#I will say I think she probably only has peach fuzz on her arms and legs tho

[possamble]

In one of the extra comics Marcille mentions that elves don't have body hair, her included. So Falin staring at a naked pussy is Canon

I mean, I hear what you're saying but...

To be 100% honest, this feels really ambiguous. She's a little too worked up in that second panel. Like, a lot of people have interpreted it as her being defensive and self-conscious about the fact that she shaves and waxes religiously (especially in the context of a trans headcanon) and that feels more right to me?

My personal interpretation is that she really doesn't grow little facial hairs (partially bc we've seen Senshi's huge beard turn into a tiny little elf stache so there is some real evidence for that). But then she doesn't actually know if she has peach fuzz or not and gets REALLY flustered about being scrutinized before she can check for herself and shave off anything she doesn't like.

But either way, my point is that I don't think we're meant to take Marcille's words here at 100% face value and consider it evidence for elf physiology.

And listen. I think Marcille should have a bald pussy in the bath scene bc rule of funny. But beyond that, I want to believe elves can grow pubic hair. I want to believe in the postcanon blondie bush. She's exponentially cuter with it, and I don't want Falin to have to eat bald pussy for the rest of her life. I'm only half joking when I say I want it as a part of her character growth. At the end of the story, Marcille Donato accepts that she is a living, breathing animal that eats and will be eaten and sweats and shits and grows hair all over her body. She learns to accept mortality, starts to reconcile with the inherent grotesqueness of being alive, and most importantly, lets her bush grow out for the first time in her life. And it's beautiful.

[pynkhues]

Touch prompt 17 (after an argument) please and thank you!

Whatever Gets You Through the Night Succession gen fic. Roy sibs! TW: for mentions of domestic violence, drug abuse.

1996 / Connor's 33, Kendall's 18, and Roman and Shiv are twins and 14.

-

“Ow, fuck,” Roman bites, wincing dramatically as Connor rolls his eyes, offers up a half-assed watch it as he presses the balled-up washcloth to his youngest brother’s split lip. It’s mostly stopped bleeding now, the cut leaving the start of a bruise the size of their father’s signet ring just below the swell of his mouth, and the thing is, it wasn’t even hard, not really. An unballed fist, an open fingered backhand. Hell, if dad hadn’t been wearing the ring, there’d probably be nothing to clean up at all. The thought dries in ink, certain in a way that eases that hot, panicked, hollow feeling from ten minutes ago, even as he tilts Roman’s peach-fuzzed chin sideways to double check.

“A day, maybe two,” he decides, letting him go, but not quite moving to stand just yet. “I reckon you won’t even know it was there.”

“Shit, was hoping it’d scar,” Roman replies. He’s sitting cross-legged on the closed toilet seat, his eyes cast downwards to where he’s tugging the sleeves of his sweater down over curled fingers. Like this, he looks younger than fourteen, bug eyed and round faced with hands and feet he hasn’t grown into yet. Scrappy, like Kendall was at his age. Like Connor’s pretty sure he was too. “Start my supervillain era.”

It’s then that Shiv finally makes a noise – that loud sort of scoff she’s been managing since she was eight – and Connor exhales, standing up from his crouch to toss the blood-spotted washcloth into the sink.

“Please, you have Henchman Number 3 written all over you.”

“Yeah, well, you have unidentified murdered body written all over you. Probably headless and like, mangled and shit, with someone’s dick stitched to your face.”

Which - - okay.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Shiv asks at the same time Connor says: “Hey,” giving Roman a sharp look, and Roman just rolls his eyes, slumping back against the toilet’s tank and pulling a face at Shiv, who’s gotta pull an ugly one back, if the faint grin twitching at the corner of Rome’s mouth is anything to go by. It makes it easier somehow, for Connor to glance back at Shiv himself, and at least some of the colour is coming back to her face.

She’d come into the bathroom after them, but only by seconds, closing the door behind her before deciding to glue herself to it, and in the moment of it, it had been too much. To have been on his own this morning at his place in Medina, to tonight, trapped in the crowded kids’ bathroom at their dad’s apartment on the Upper East Side, these three kids suddenly his to deal with, loud and needy and urgent.

Not that that was a straight line exactly.

No, of course, there was plenty between it, from the private jet to dinner, to - - all of that - - but he’s not really sure how productive that would be to think about right now when his fourteen-year-old sister is staring at him like maybe he has a few answers.

And maybe he does, he thinks, hands still damp from the washcloth.

Or maybe not, he thinks, because he finds himself still looking at Shiv to not look at Kendall.

Thing is, he'd only visited her a few weeks ago – flown to Kentucky to see her compete in the US Equestrian Pony Finals, where she’d ignored him the first day before attaching herself to his side the second – but he swears she’s grown since then. Another inch in height at least, plus - - you know. She and Rome might be twins, but they’ve never looked particularly alike, and now, well. Mom always did say girls grew up faster.

“You okay?” he asks her, and Shiv glances up at him, arms crossed behind her back where she leans against the wall, and he sees it. The way her eyes dart towards the bathtub, but she’s careful not to let herself linger. Rolls her shoulders back against the wall, pushes her hips out like she would when she was still a kid, and she sniffs.

“Shouldn’t you be asking him that?”

Which - - yeah, Connor thinks, finally turning his attention to where Kendall’s sprawled in the empty bathtub, skinny as a rake, all of 18 and more blitzed on your average Thursday night than Connor was at last year’s Burning Man. He’s distracted at least for now, entranced by the ceiling light, his hair still damp from where Connor had splashed some water on his face the second he’d pulled them in here, but after a quick search for track marks (there were none that he could find, at least, although the hand-grip shaped bruise on Kendall’s arm had made him catch his breath), and deciding he wasn’t at risk of slipping into unconsciousness just yet, figured he could wait a sec.

“Don’t know how I was the one he was pissed at with the tweaker here,” Roman huffs, but there’s nothing behind it really. Embarrassment if anything, Connor thinks, because they both know Dad wasn’t actually angry at Roman anyway. The evening is like a flip book in his head: Family dinner and Kendall moony eyed and loose limbed and Sally-Anne’s pointed comments and then Kendall’s slurred insult, then their father’s consuming anger, shrinking the room, climbing the walls. A hand on Kendall’s arm, yanking so hard Connor thought he might’ve pulled it from the socket, Roman standing up saying - - something, Connor can’t remember, just remembers he was too close, whatever he said too much, so their father’s hand had gone backwards, like batting away a fly. Remembers Shiv then, staring hard at her plate, white faced and stormy eyed, and if it wasn’t for Sally-Anne suddenly leaving the room, their father quick to make chase, who the hell knows where the night might’ve gone.

“You just don’t know when to stop,” Shiv tells him, and Connor ignores them, crouching at the edge of the bathtub, grabbing the glass of water he’d poured earlier off the floor and holding it out to Kendall again. His gaze slips to the finger shaped bruises on his arm, and sometimes, in his dumber moments, he kinda thinks that’s the nut cracked. That Roman’s smacked out of the way, shoved to the side, and Kenny’s yanked closer, Kenny’s held down, but that’s not - - Dad’s not - -

Connor shakes his head, reaches for Kendall’s hand, helps him grip the glass. They’re kids, just like he was, and they just need to learn to keep quiet and do as they’re told. That’s all.

“You with us?” he asks, and Kendall blinks bleary green eyes back at him, unfocused, but then - - there’s a little something. A vague flicker of recognition, of regrounding, and Connor’s knees ache.

“Con?”

“Yeah, Kenny, I’m here.”

It makes Kendall blink, mumble something Connor can’t quite make out, but there’s a smile at his lips, so Connor takes it for a win. He rests his elbow against the cool porcelain rim of the tub, easing the glass to Kendall’s mouth.

“You gonna drink some of this for me?”

“You always do stuff like this,” Shiv continues, and from the corner of Connor’s eye, he can see her finally push off the door, starting towards Roman “Like you’re away half the year and then you come back, and start inserting yourself into things that you don’t know anything about.”

“Oh, I don’t know anything about this? About fucking - - fucking Trainspotting over here?”

Which - -

Connor frowns, even as Kendall fumbles a hand to his wrist, holds onto him as Connor helps him take a drink.

“Aren’t you a little young to be watching stuff like that?”

“We’ve seen worse,” Shiv counters. “Pretty sure Roman’s been jacking it to Clockwork Orange since last summer.”

“Yeah, but only to the regular violence, not the rapey violence, so the internet says there’s nothing to worry about.”

“I don’t like you guys messing around with that either,” Connor says, and he’d gesture to make a point, but Kendall’s really holding onto him now. Sobering up, maybe, something. Connor glances back, but y’know what? He has a point here. “The internet. You know, I’ve heard it was secretly invented by Al Gore, which means Clinton’s probably using it as a backdoor to Dad.”

“Oh my god, Connor,” Shiv groans, as Roman laughs, which chafes, and Connor half twists back towards them, annoyed because, y’know, they’re half his fuckin’ age, and he knows stuff about this, he does, but Roman and Shiv are just grinning at each other now.

“Ooo, yes, well, they’ll be getting all the super secret intel like his favourite sports ball team’s latest score as reported by literally everywhere, and pictures of like - - tits and buttholes.”

“I’m serious, you guys, it’s - - ”

Before he can finish the thought, Kendall suddenly sits up, thrusting his glass back at Connor, and okay, yeah, alright, Connor thinks, sensing the incoming mess. He drops the glass to the ground to stand and haul Kendall up as best he can. The kid’s green around the gills, is the thing, throat lurching and shoulders curling, and Connor glances sideways to Roman as he tries to move Kendall, who’s got all the grace of a reanimated corpse right now, and at least Rome’s already lurching off the toilet seat, fumbling around to help Connor pull their brother bodily out of the tub. There’s a bit of fumbling then, turning, but somehow they manage to link elbows with Kendall in the middle, their knees hitting the tiles simultaneously, just in time for Kendall to drop his head into the bath and vomit.

Behind them, he can hear Shiv gag, and Jesus, Connor’s pretty close to it himself. The splatter of bile (because apparently Kendall hasn’t eaten anything today) loud against the porcelain, and the smell something thin and acidic, diffusing in the bathroom, weaseling into towels and clothes.

“That’s good, Kenny,” Connor says, soothing in the way he used to use with his mom, which - - okay. Not something to spend too much time thinking on. He swallows, adds: “Bet you’re feeling better already, huh?”

Kendall makes a vague spluttering noise, and Roman’s face twists into something between sympathy and disgust, and Connor’s knees really aren’t what they used to be. He shifts on the tiles, feeling his pants catch in the grout line, leaving him off-balance, and he means to push a hand to Kendall’s back, half in quasi-comfort, and half to steady himself, only to discover that Roman’s hand is already there. They don’t acknowledge it, instead Connor just raises his own hand to the back of Kendall’s neck, squeezing gently at the clammy skin there, and watching as Kendall heaves out one last vomit, before he lowers his head to the rim of the bathtub.

“Here it comes,” Roman says, voice flat and hand still sprawled between Kendall’s shoulder blades. “You seen him crash before, man? It’s like watching a lizard fall off the ceiling into a trash compactor.”

“He’s done this before?”

Which is a stupid question, and they all know it. They’ve all seen him sneak off at parties, all seen him waxy skinned and red eyed in the mornings, and Connor’s more wondering when it started. He must’ve been Rome and Shiv’s age, more or less. Younger maybe, but that’s not really something he wants to think about either. Can’t quite balance that. His kid brother, always playing big.  

Still, stupid question or not, Shiv and Roman play along.

“Just a couple of times,” Shiv replies, and when he glances back at her, she’s flattened her bare foot on to the back of Kendall’s, her toes curled around his heel, and it’s a weird sort of gesture, but then Kendall’s foot seems to arch to hold it there, and he thinks he’s got no leg to stand on, not really. After all, she and Kendall are the only two of the four of them who really live together right now, what with Roman at St. Andrews and Connor in Medina. The thought sticks, and Connor thinks - - next school vacation. He’ll get them out with him. He can - - something.

“By that, she means only Wednesdays through Mondays. He gives himself Tuesdays off.”

Roman’s voice is cloying, mocking, and it apparently inspires a fresh exhale. A proper, annoyed breath.

“Fuck you, bro.”

And okay, yeah, Connor can work with that.

“Oh! He’s awake!” Connor crows at the same time Roman says: “He’s aliiive!” in as disturbing a Dr. Frankenstein voice as he can manage, and between them, Kendall swipes at his mouth with the back of his hand, resting on his haunches, and their arms are still linked, so it ends up being a whole thing that - - y’know - - not to belabor the point, but Connor’s really not sure his knees are up for anymore.

“Yeah,” is all Kendall says, and it’s weird – this moment where Connor feels him start to pull his arm in, closer, before seemingly changing his mind and disentangling. Instead, Kendall drops his hands to his thighs, curling there for a second before uncurling, and he glances at Connor without actually looking at him, before suddenly turning to Roman. Like this, Connor can’t see his face, can only see the back of his head and the slope of his narrow shoulders, but he can see Roman just past him, and then Shiv too, as she moves from behind them to sit on the edge of the tub, and that’s - - not weird, it’s not. Him and Kendall looking at Roman and Shiv, Roman and Shiv looking at - -

Well.

Not them.

Kendall.

Always to Kendall first.

It’s out of the corner of his eye that Connor sees Kendall raise an arm, his hand coming up to the corner of Roman’s mouth, just enough to thumb at some of the dried blood beneath the cut, and Connor can’t see Kendall’s face, he can’t, but he can hear his hoarse, wet breath, hear the mumbled ‘m sorry, and it’s all it takes for Roman’s face to crack open and for Shiv to stare at the floor like she’d stared at her plate at dinner, her own look closed and stormy again, and Connor thinks he might not even be there. Connor wonders if this is a dream, if its astral projection, if he’s never really with them, always on the outside, looking in, and there’s something inside him that tells him stupid, that tells him they’re teenagers, and Shiv is staring at the floor like she knows not to look up and Roman’s got their father’s ring stamped on his face, and Kendall’s got their father’s fingers wrapped around his arm, and he thinks he can’t look at them.

These kids.

He’s supposed to take care of them.

He drops his gaze to the floor, a tentative hand falling to Kendall’s shoulder, and he hates that it’s a relief, when Kendall doesn’t flinch.

The moment sits, but then, like everything else, it breaks.

“Whatever,” Roman says suddenly to Kendall, loose and warmer than he has any right to be, especially when he adds: “Will you throw up again if I stick my finger in your eye?”

(Which yeah, for the record, he will).

[koi-fish96]

🍼EraserMic Baby Headcanons🍼

Looks like my brain wont let me sleep tonight so, ask and you shall receive @psssh-its-pastel

{Obviously unedited 😅 its like 2am I'm not bothering with that mess}

*Not getting into technicalities, the baby is biologically both their daughter, maybe they found something with a quirk that can do that, moving on!

*Knowing that Hizashi was born with his quirk and managed to break the windows and bursted his parents eardrums did worry you a bit but Aizawa makes sure to remind you hes right there if the baby is born with Hizashi’s quirk, lucky she wasn’t

*The nurse lays her on your chest and you finally get to see her, bright red eyes {Manga Hizashi} and black peach fuzz on her little head, you carried her for 9 months and she had the nerve to come out looking like her daddies

* Aizawa had little twinkles in his eyes and Hizashi is full out balling his eyes out as you three finally get to meet your baby

* "Just as cute as her mom." “She’s perfect!” 

*They are gonna feel bad for having to leave you alone to deal with the baby a lot {5 jobs takes up a lot of their time} but they always try and deal with the baby in the morning for you, come home for lunch, between patrols, and after work anything to give you a break even if its only a few minutes

*Neither really mind diaper duty, Aizawa is kinda bad at it though, he’ll get it he just needs a bit more practice and both are fine with feeding, burping, extra

*Aizawa got nap/sleep time, him and his daughter are one in the same always fighting their sleep and being cranky but they can nap just about anywhere. You might wake up one morning and find Aizawa in the crib with her

*You guys definitely put a radio in the nursery so she can hear her papa’s voice when he does his radio show

*She loves her mom’s cuddles and kisses and hates when Aizawa or Mic try and butt in on her love, once Mic tried to steal as kiss while you were giving her kisses and he got baby slapped she might have been blabbering but you're sure she told Mic to wait his turn

*Mic’s quirk lets him mimic voices and hes gotten great at doing you and Aizawa and he’ll learn all the voices of her favorite cartoon characters because lets be real who doesn’t want their fav character to sing them a lullaby

*Hes the best a bedtime stories since he can do such good voices for each character and being a dj/radio host/announcer/performer he can really bring the story to life

*Shes an attention hog when it comes to Hizashi, she’ll scream her little lungs off till he does the voices or a little dance, gives her raspberries, or funny faces

*She likes to yank Mic’s mustache as much as she does Aizawa’s hair, pro guys

*Present Mic themed onesies, yes plural Hizashi bought one of each one available and probably has a pacifier with his mustache printed on it 

*Hizashi got a custom Eraserhead onesie made so Aizawa wouldn’t be left out

*Cat themed nursery

*If you think Mic wont bring her to the radio show your wrong,

* “Hello listeners we have a very special guest today! Say hello!” *Happy baby gibberish* 

*Aizawa will use his capture scarf as a baby carrier

*Baby sensory videos dont really catch her attention, Present Mic videos do though hes bright and colorful zooming around and making weird noises so your guessing thats why or maybe she just misses her papa

*You three were sitting on the couch as she was doing tummy time on a mat on the floor after a bit you heard Mic gasped and turned to see her making her little way over to the three of you on her hands and knees 

*You were sitting in the kitchen feeding her when she started looking around “Da... Da-da?” “Oh! Shota! Hizashi!” The come running in and are next to you within second, the second she sees Aizawa she starts bouncing “Da-da! Da-da!” 

*You three were laying in bed when the baby monitor crackled to life with her cries “Y/n-” “Nope thats your child after midnight-” “Ma-ma!” Aizawa chuckles “She says otherwise.” 

*Hizashi cant wait for her to start calling him too, he was feeding her some baby food when she pointed to him “nana!” “nana?” He hears you go to laughing behind him and turns “What?” “Your hair Hizashi, she means banana." "No!"

*She’ll eventually call him pa-pa but its banana for at least a month

*Aizawa comes home from an after school meeting to see her sitting on the floor playing with her Present Mic plushy “Hi kitty cat.” She turns “Hi da-da!” She pushes herself up and waddles over to him on wobbly legs, he scooped her up and books it to find and show you and Mic

*She'll walk into your room and wake Hizashi to put her on the bed she'll then crawl over him and you to lay on Aizawa's chest

*If she sleeps on you, who sleeps in the middle, she'll push her dads away these are her cuddles

*If its Hizashi she chooses their both spread out hogging the bed x2

*I can see her liking FatGum in her younger years because he sorta reminds her of Mic

---

Quirk bonus:

*She was sitting on Aizawa’s lap watching some tv when you decided to tease her a bit, you sat and wrapped your arms around Aizawa’s arm “Mine.” She shook her head standing to wrap her arms around his neck “Mine, you can have papa for now, I need him back for bedtime though.” You and Aizawa laughed a bit harder “But I want Aizawa right now.” She pouted “MINE!” You were knocked off the couch before Aizawa could activate his quirk

*Mic comes booking it out the kitchen “Yes!” He picks her up and spin her around in the air “You got papa’s quirk!” She laughs as he peppers her face with kisses. 

*They dont care who’s quirk shes has if she had Aizawa’s or yours Mic still would have been excited that it manifested

*Your happy the house and windows are Mic proofed already so no harm came to anything other then poor you who hit the floor

---

Crack bonus:

*Mic picked her up from school and brought her home. You, her, and Mic sat at the table as she ate her snack you made her as Mic is checking her folder “How was your day my little songbird?”

*She starts telling you guys about what she learned at school, “And at recess I was a princess and r/n was a prince and he saved me from the dragon so hes my boyfriend now.”

*”Boyfriend!?” She nods at Mic “You can't have a boyfriend.”

*She pouts “Why not!? You have one, dad has one, and mom has two!” She turns to you with a pout and you looked to Mic “Yeah Zashi.” “Dont encourage her.” You laughed patting him on the head as you stood to pick her plate up “Their six babe, calm down. Trust me they'll forget all about it in two days tops.” 

*Later Aizawa came home from patrol and she ran over to him letting him scoop her up as she starts telling him about her day, and like Mic the word boyfriend is loud and clear in Aizawa's ears “Boys have cooties.” “Whats cooties?” “A bug you catch if you touch a boy.” “But I always touch you and papa, were touching right now.” “We dont count, only boys not related to you.” “Oh... so did you give mom cooties?” “Nah, papa did.” “Hey! Mean yo!” 

*You shook your head with a laugh, her poor future actual boyfriend

[skellebonez]

How's about Shadowpeach with 10 and 73, specifically with Wukong taking care of Spider Macaque in the Spider Monkie AU?

The ShadowPeach in this fill is pretty vague, so if you don't ship them I think you could still read and enjoy this! I really wanted to just have an introspection from Macaque about what the transformation has done to to him and how much he thinks it had done to Sun Wukong as well.

Stop it! You’re only making it worse!/You’re putting an awful lot of trust in them.

"Macaque?"

"I'm fine, Peaches."

Macaque was not, in fact, fine. In any sense of the word. His back and shoulders ached horribly, deep set into the muscle, aches that stemmed from what he had willingly put his body through. The extra height. The new grown fur.

His extra set of arms, totaling four overall, set below his regular arms that had their own shoulder blades to ache with. No, he was not fine.

Not to mention the headache from his extra eyes...

The fact he was laying face down on a pile of leaves because he ached too much to make it back to any of buildings was a pretty clear sign to anyone passing that while he sounded convincing, as always, he was clearly lying.

“Is there anything you want me to do for you?”

The question made Macaque pause in his musing and look up. It wasn’t as if the offer to help was unexpected, no. Wukong had made it very clear since they reunited that he can and would help in any way possible. It was the way the help was offered. Or, rather, the way he was asking if he could offer any to the ailing demon.

It was... different.

Maybe because now that Wukong went through something similar he could possibly understand a bit more.

It was odd for the dark furred monkey to have to crane his neck to look up at the other now. Sun Wukong towered over... well, everyone. Even Sandy was shorter than the new Spider-Monkey King. The only person who could probably best the other in stature now was possibly DBK, and that was on a day he wasn't using his own magic to shift to his smaller form.

He'd also been granted a third set of arms, instead of the extra eyes that Macaque had to get used to and deal with on a regular basis. But often he wondered if the trade off was worth it...

The places where they matched transformation wise, however, were their fur and eyes. Both had grown a mixture of coarse spider fuzz and soft monkey fur, often times mingling into a warm mixed coat that granted extra protection from the elements. Macaque's black fur had grown a deep purple over his chest and arms, offset by silver bands and stripes in places. Wukong's, on the other hand, became a soft white and a light peach fuzz shade that mixed with his natural deeper fur color. And their eyes each attained a brilling green hue.

Spider Queen once said they shone like emeralds and Macaque couldn't find himself arguing with that.

What he could argue with, however, was the fact that HE got really cool purple markings around his eyes and Wukong's face marking didn't change at all.

So point 1 to him for getting something extra.

Built in eyeliner.

"Mac? Mango?" Wukong asked again, pulling the other from his thoughts abruptly. "I can leave you alone for a bit if you want. Check in on you later?"

Macaque tensed and pain shot through his spine and, for some reason, the thought of suddenly being alone again filled him with dread.

"Can you..." he started slowly, low enough that he was uncertain that the other could hear him. "Can you groom my back for me? I couldn't finish it and..."

He trailed off, to embarrassed to admit that the whole reason he was even in this mess was because he had stubbornly tried to clean the fur on his own back when it had gotten caught on some brush and the stretching of his already painted muscles proved too much for him.

"Sure," was all Wukong said before sitting down beside the other and quietly getting to work.

They sat silently for a while. Wukong doing his best to run his many fingers through only the glossy tangled fur. The coarser fur would require a comb or brush and Macaque douted that the other wanted to even attempt brushing his fur out in this situation.

And while the deep set ache in his spine didn't vanish, the longer he laid there and felt the other working on his fur the longer he relaxed and felt the surface aches slowly dampen themselves.

“What did Syntax say about the next batch?” Wukong finally spoke up as his fingers worked their way through the knotted fur between Macaque’s second set of shoulder blades. Every graze against the skin beneath the fur felt like a new ache, but the touches we so soft and fleeting that Macaque knew the temporary pain would be worth not having to attempt to groom his own back again. “It’s supposed to last longer, right?”

"He thinks so," Macaque said, voice tight but clearer than he expected it to come out. "I know it will. He's never failed me before."

For better or worse.

"Seems like it," Wukong agreed quickly, apologizing as he pulled a stubborn knot just a bit too hard and earned a pained yelp from the other. "You're putting an awful lot of trust in him... but his serums have been working so far so even if everything is guess work he seems to know what he's doing."

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

The reply came so fast that Macaque knew that it was practiced. Said so clearly that even after all this time he knew that the other spider-monkey mutant was hiding something. His actions never ceased, though. Grooming continuing on as if nothing was said, hundreds of years not being dampened by the addition of size or number of fingers in the slightest.

“You can’t expect me to believe that you went through a transformation more drastic than mine so quickly without anythin-”

“Yes,” Wukong interrupted, voice more form and snappy than he has sounded the entire time he was tending to Macaque’s fur and muscle aches.

“You’ve always been a shit liar, you know. That’s my forte.”

Now the movements slowed, not to a stop but noticeable enough to be felt. Not until he finished working through the fur after another minute or so of silence.

"Only to you," Wukong admitted, running his fingers through the finished patches of fur to catch any missed knots. "Apparently I'm pretty good when it comes to others."

"That's because they haven't known you as long as I have," Macaque said, sitting up against the urges from the other to keep laying down.

And the sight before him, closer and clearer in the light than before, proved his suspicions that he'd had since the other's transformation correct in his mind.

Sun Wukong looked exhausted. Not physically, except for the dark bags under his eyes that Macaque could see forming. But his posture and the dull shine of his eyes gave it away. The way he leaned forward and his eyes were half lidded and the way he smiled in that awkward nervous way that showed far too much teeth.

"You've been treating me differently," Macaque continued as he stretched and the pain was worth the light rush of relief from the way the stretch relieved some pressure on his back. "Since your transformation. It's because you know how I feel now, don't you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Stop it!" Macaque snapped, startling the other. "You’re only making it worse, pretending it doesn't happen! Have you even gone to Syntax for any treatment?"

In the back of Macaque’s mind he could swear he heard "hypocrite" shouted at him for the pretending bit.

"... no," Wukong admitted, rubbing the back of his neck with two hands. That wasn't from embarrassment or nervousness, that was from pain. Macaque recognized it from so long ago. "He comes to me, though. Practically throws the stuff at me while insulting me for being too stubborn for own good."

"He's right you stubborn ass," Macaque said with a half chuckle, standing with more than a bit of effort. When he stumbled forward he was grateful that Wukong held out a hand to grab his own and didn't catch him, who knows how much that would hurt. It had when he'd caught him before. "The new batch should be ready, actually. We should go see him together."

Macaque smirked up at the other, hoping he was playing his cards right.

"Besides, I know how much you like proving people wrong."

The loud laughter that resounded through their little patch of forest told him he was still good at playing that little game of chance.

"Alright, yeah," Wukong agreed, smile softening as he held out one of his lower arms from Macaque to hold onto as he walked. "I do like proving people wrong. I'm not too stubborn to accept help after everything that's happened."

"Now tell Queenie that next time we see her so she can stop worrying over you so much," Macaque chided with a laugh of his own as they walked the path to home Wukong had built for the spider demons on his island.

As they walked Macaque felt the soft and firm brush of Wukong's tail against his own and he wrapped his around it. Their tailed wrapped together, twining like rope behind them, and they just had to hope that Syntax wouldn't have a rant planned out for the two of them when they arrived.

[aetheternity]

Hard pass P4 (Levi x reader)

Synopsis: Levi is forced out of his comfy dorm room and in a strange twist of events right into your arms at a college party.

"I talked to her!" Hange announced bursting into Levi's room with a slam of the door against the wall.

Levi just rolled his eyes, twisting his body away, with a huff he crossed his arms.

"Why would you do that?" Erwin questioned

"We needed answers!"

"Please tell me you didn't say anything outright at least." He groaned, squeezing his temple.

Hange rolled her eyes. "I didn't. Geez.."

"Oh yeah? How'd you phrase it?"

"I told her I heard from Moblit that she'd kissed Jean and I was curious as to if she was planning to get back with him. It's fine I'm always in her business." Hange said with a wave of her hand.

"You're always in everyone's business but go on." Erwin replied

"I really think Levi should just go talk to her." Hange stated

"Why the hell would I do that?" Levi butted in

"Because I'm pretty sure this is all a big misunderstanding!"

"What'd she end up telling you?" Erwin questioned

"Just that Jean kissed her out of nowhere and that she wasn't expecting it. She probably didn't even like it."

"Are you just inferring that she didn't like it or did she say that?" Erwin asked

"They were kissing for at least a minute and a half.." Levi grunted

"Geez.. how long were you watching? That's kinda creepy.."

"Hange.." Erwin tried

Levi sat up, turning to face Hange who was practically pacing the room. She randomly stopped crossing her arms over her chest.

"Listen, things are only gonna get worse from here if you don't suck it up and just talk to her.. I mean things can't possibly get any worse-"

"Don't jinx it Hange." Erwin interjected

"Well how should I phrase it! Look miscommunications are the worst things to exist in any kind of relationship. If you don't talk you can't learn anything so just go out there and talk to her!"

Levi sighed rolling his eyes. His stomach boiling over with an unnecessary amount of heat.

"It's just not a good time. And this is a very delicate situation. Levi should act when he's ready."

"But-"

"Hange, we promised we'd help if he asked for it. Right now he's not asking."

With shaky fists Hange let out a screech that was practically inhumane, arms raised before her hands were coming down to scratch at her head in agitation.

"Fine whatever.." She finally agreed

Erwin reached over patting Levi's leg twice as he stood up. "We'll check in in a few hours if you don't come back downstairs, alright?"

It wasn't quite a question but Levi was still answering it with a nod. Erwin practically shoved a very disgruntled Hange out the door and it shut with a light click behind them.

And this would've been the kind of peace Levi had searched for since he'd been unceremoniously dragged on this godforsaken trip. But his brain was splattered with Y/N the image of Jean and her on the stairs replaying like a scratched record.

Levi turned over onto his back, placing his fists on his forehead. Teeth gritting as he tried and failed to calm his agitated nerves. That is until a couple knocks on the door shattered his immersion.

He turned his head in that direction. It definitely wasn't Hange or Erwin coming back. It wouldn't be so silent on the other end. Was it Y/N?

The next set of knocks were much harsher and now Levi was wrenching himself up from the bed, walking almost too fast to open the door and see-

Jean.

Jean leaning against the doorframe. Jean with his weird mullet. Tall Jean and his peach fuzz of a dammed beard.

"We need to talk." He said plainly and before Levi could ponder or execute a response Jean was pushing Levi inside shutting the door behind them.

Levi didn't speak just stared up as Jean stared back. Though Levi was surprised to see a lack of malice in his eyes.

Jean put a hand out from his crossed arms, pointing his index finger at Levi. "I know you like Y/N."

Levi felt his heart drop at her name. His pulse quickening and his blood pooling to his feet. "What?"

Jean looked Levi over again in that way Levi hated. It made his blood bubble over as if were in a pot that was close to overflowing. Like Levi was an insect Jean had stepped on but could easily flick off the bottom of his shoe.

Jean began again. "There's no point in pretending you don't. I can tell."

"And what? Did you come here to tell me to stay away?"

Jean shook his head, lips slightly curved as he spoke again. "I'm not that kind of man."

"Seems like you were before she dumped you."

A flicker of something being held back something almost violent rose in Jean's eyes but it was barely noticeable after a couple seconds a little forced chuckle falling off his lips.

"I wanted you to know.. that I want Y/N too. I love her and I want her back but I'm not gonna tell you not to pursue her. Whoever she picks is whoever she picks, now I don't know you personally but I'm hoping you're not the kind of guy to purposefully sabotage the competition." He paused stepping closer. Levi looked up to meet Jean's eyes with the same bright intensity.

"Cause then things actually will get heated."

"Why.. can't you just step aside and let her be happy with someone new?" It was a question Levi hadn't even meant to ask but before he knew it the words were out of his mouth.

Jean turned from where he'd already begun to leave. "I made a couple of mistakes while dating her. One was letting her go and two.... two was being a guy she couldn't feel safe around."

He stepped forward once more. "But I've been working to correct two, she finally feels safe around me again. I can't let her escape if I have a chance to do better. I know you probably have your own reasons for liking her."

"Y-yeah.."

Levi felt a pit begin to grow in his throat but he quickly swallowed it down. Nothing about Jean had given him even the slightest impression that he genuinely felt for Y/N..

"And now this probably sounds a bit.. commanding but don't tell anyone I came to talk to you. Connie has already started suspecting that we have some kind of beef and he's an idiot who can't keep secrets if he finds out about your feelings Y/N'll find out that same day."

With that said Levi nodded and Jean finally took his leave. Retreating while Levi stood alone at the cracked door, head pounding with protruding thoughts.

~~~~

Day three

When Levi finally came to it was pitch black in the room. His eyes strained open slowly forming a picture from pieces of darkness. A loud banging sounded not only from his chest but what he soon discovered was his room door.

With an angry grunt he slid out of bed, yanking the door so hard it slammed into the wall behind it.

"Damn someone's got bed head." Hange grinned

With a huff Levi was slamming the door forward again but unfortunately Erwin caught it and him and Hange quickly followed Levi back into the room.

"Come on Levi get up! We're going to the grocery store!" Hange yelled, jolting Levi back and forth with both hands.

"I told you he'd be asleep." Erwin said with a sigh and a small yawn. "We all should be asleep it's 1 am."

Fucking-" Levi turned over "One in the morning? Go fuck yourself please." He yanked one of the pillows from the head of the bed over his face.

Hange sighed, "I can't do it twice in one night. That's overkill."

Erwin pulled a face but chose to move past it. "Jean was in here earlier. Well.. yesterday. What did he say to you?"

"Wait! He was?!" Hange yelped

"How do you even know that?" Levi asked

"I saw him being weird in the halls and then I saw him enter your room so what did he say?"

"You're starting to become as annoying as Hange when it comes to gossip."

"What'd he say dammit!" Hange practically shouted.

A couple of soft knocks distracted them and they all turned. "Guys we're leaving in a couple minutes hurry and come downstairs." Y/N called

Hearing her voice no matter how many times set a flame in Levi's stomach with enough intensity to keep a neighborhood warm for the winter. Simultaneously coupling it with a frigid intensity akin to a blizzard that froze everything in the first place. An icy chill through his veins.

"Tell us!" Hange demanded

"I'm going right back to sleep so get out." Levi replied, tossing the pillow at Hange's head.

Erwin rolled his eyes. "Well, I guess Jean will get yet another chance to show you up."

Hange joined with a laugh. "Levi makes it so easy at this point."

Levi muttered a curse, quickly slipping his discarded jacket from earlier over his shoulders along with his coat, gloves, hat, scarf and a couple hand warmers slipped into his empty pockets. He reached for his phone adding the device to the list of things in his pocket.

"What the hell are we buying at 1am?"

Surprisingly the car ride had been quieter than Levi expected. Connie giving Jean directions, Sasha stuffing her face with who knows what, Hange and Moblit talking, Erwin listening to another podcast through his earbuds and Levi sat right next to Y/N.

They'd only talked briefly conversated thanks to Levi's impressively bad wording of things and his terrible stuttering which only seemed to get worse now that it was so late.

Jean had barely parked the car before Connie and Sasha pilied out with Hange behind them. Hange had only a thin hoodie on which was pretty irresponsible even for her.

"Where's your coat, Hange?" Moblit asked, slipping his coat off his shoulders.

"Huh?? Oh!" Hange immediately laughed "Must have left it back at the lodge."

Levi squinted at the two in the fairly darkened parking lot. Connie and Sasha had run up ahead and Moblit and Hange were talking amongst themselves. She was being weird even for her. Playfully nudging her shoulder with his and whipping her hair a lot.

"That's interesting." Y/N was surprisingly watching too. Her smile downright mischievous as she made eye contact with Levi. "What'd you think they're saying?"

"I-uh.."

"Ok, so they do have marshmallows here." Jean approached from behind forcing Levi's soul to ascend though he tried not to outwardly flinch.

"Oh good!" Y/N replied turning back to Levi. "We wanted to make s'mores. Or well Sasha had the idea and we all just agreed to it."

It was a split second. Almost unnoticeable the way it flashed away, Jean's eyes slightly darker with the way they flicked over to Levi past Y/N's shoulder.

"Oh you know what I also want!" She turned to Jean breaking the little gaze between them.

"Hmm?"

"Milk!"

"Don't worry, I'll pay so get some snacks while we're here." Jean replied, his hand came up to Y/N's lower back giving her a gentle pat. To Levi's own irritation she stepped a little closer in their stride.

"Sasha will definitely eat anything I get." She continued the conversation.

Jean shook his head. "Don't worry, I'll hide some in my room and you can come get them whenever you're hungry. Whether it's afternoon or midnight."

"You're so sweet."

In the bright light stretching over the dark ground Levi could see Erwin almost at the entrance to the store. Just narrowly avoiding Connie and Sasha speeding past. Sasha with her legs kicking up in the cart loudly whooping and Connie pushing the thing at an alarming speed through the automatic doors.

"Shit." Jean growled quickly running to catch the two.

Levi quickly caught up with Erwin almost pushing him aside as he joined his stride. Erwin threw a glance over his shoulder. "Ok Levi, I know you're not good at this yet but.. she's alone. Why don't you take the opportunity?"

Levi let out an irritated huff. "We have nothing to talk about."

"Excuses."

"Huh?"

"I didn't stutter Levi."

The two of them walked side by side. Levi with both his hands in his pockets and Erwin holding his phone in one hand, while the other pulled his headphones off his ears.

"Do you need anything here?" Erwin asked

"It'd be nice to get some beef.."

"Beef?"

"I want stew.." Levi responded with a small hum of weariness.

"Why don't you get beef stew in a can so you don't have to spend time cooking?"

"I like cooking."

Erwin threw his hands up in mock defeat. "Hey, did you see where Hange disappeared to?"

"Tch why would I be paying attention to that?"

Levi paused staring up at the top shelf before immediately making eye contact with Erwin. Erwin chuckled lowly, "What do you need?"

"Red wine."

"Oh wait I can get it for you." Y/N marched over. "Which brand?"

"W-well.. doesn't m-matter y-you pick." Levi inwardly groaned, kicking his foot back and forth.

Erwin gave a quick thumbs up that Y/N fortunately couldn't see before rushing off. Levi stood up straighter as Y/N handed him the bottle.

She let out a playful exhale. "Phew, Levi I didn't know you drink." She pointed to it. "Try not to get too tipsy it'd suck if you didn't remember how much fun you had on this trip."

"N.." Levi looked down at the bottle suddenly very conscious of his sweaty palms. "No, n-no I don't.. well.. it's for stew."

Y/N immediately nodded. "Sorry to assume." She smiled her own cheeks beginning to look flushed. Or maybe it was just Levi being hopeful. "Maybe we should go get a basket? Cause I don't think we're gonna see Connie and the cart till after we check out."

"Ok.."

Levi was glad to feel the overly anxious sparks dying down. The basket about semi full. For whatever reason no matter what aisle they went down it was just the two of them in this big store. And as much as Levi definitely should've felt more concern he was also half hoping everyone had left them.

"Should we go look for everyone?"

No.

Y/N pointed down another empty aisle with her thumb. She pulled out her phone, scrolling over the screen. "I mean, Jean, Sasha or Connie would've definitely called me before leaving the store so I doubt they did." She brushed a thumb over her lips.

"I'm sure they're fine.." Levi replied, though he was a bit concerned that she hadn't heard him when she didn't reply for about a minute.

"Oh! Milk that's what else I came for!" She said, pushing her phone back into her pocket. "Do you need anything else?"

Levi stared into the basket, pushing aside and removing one item to look under. "No."

"By the way when that beef stew is ready you'll let me taste right?"

Levi could only nod and then be quickly led through a couple more aisles quickly turning into the dairy section. It was noticeably colder here. Tubs filled with frozen pizza lining the center of the aisles with big fridges against the walls.

Y/N quickly grabbed the milk holding it against her chest. "Ok, now we can go find the others." She chuckled

Levi quickly grabbed the milk from her grasp, placing it in the basket. "What a gentleman." She said, her remark innocent as it may have been caused heat to flow through Levi's body like he'd been stuffed in a furnace.

"Oh.." She stopped

"Huh?"

"This song! Oh! Come here Levi!"

Levi hadn't once paid attention to the music since they'd walked into the store. He didn't think he ever did but now that he was listening he immediately recognized it, though from where he had no clue? It sounded slow, not too slow to the point where it was boring but gentle and easy going almost.

"This is my favorite song! Come here."

"Wh-what're you?" His stupid voice cracked as Y/N pulled him in closer.

"Do you know how to dance?" Her breath flushed over Levi's cheeks. Sweet like sugar cookies was the first thought in Levi's mind.

"N-no."

"I need you to dance with me here though." She almost whined in her mild neediness. "Hmm I'll teach you."

Her fingers sifted perfectly into Levi's right hand. Other arm snaking its way under Levi's left arm to place his hand on her waist. And if he could catch fire and melt into the floor he probably would've by now.

"Follow my lead." Her voice was calm and soft. "Just shift your weight between your feet."

And Levi tried his best but he was stepping on her feet within the first minute. Surprisingly though she just giggled. "Don't move your feet ok. We can go the easy route."

Her arm outstretched itself on Levi's back, hands squeezing his as they swayed and rocked gently to the music blasting over the speakers.

"Much better right?"

Their bodies were pressed into each other like a perfect mold. Puzzle pieces slotting together in a empty dairy aisle at too early of an hour. This was the first time Levi was really able to look into her eyes. The color dazzling in an almost blinding way but he didn't look away.

No matter how scared that gaze made him feel it was in a good way. It was a perfect, warm, dangerous and relaxing combination.

The smile on her face had gradually faded but she kept her softened features. Lips slightly parted as the two of them continued to sway. She leaned in almost impossibly closer and Levi's heart was banging on his rib cage.

"Here comes the dip." She let out a breathy giggle as she slowly dipped Levi back. His hair flopping back from his face, everything turned upside down for just a few seconds before he was getting lifted close again. Right back into her arms.

So close. So perfect..

"You're such a fast learner." She said, continuing to rock him.

He kept up with the pace. Uttering a small thank you. He wanted to compliment her back but his brain refused to give him the words to do so and his throat refused him the saliva neccessary to make proper conversation.

"At some point we have to try this again, you know during a normal hour and in a different place."

"Y-yeah.."

The two of them once again fell silent and when the music stopped they were still standing together. Minus the hip swaying and the gentle dip. It was just..

It was almost quiet. Every noise that had once filled the supermarket seemed to leave along with Levi's fears. All of it exiting his body at once. He was standing here, holding the girl he liked in his arms, partially in her arms with their fingers intertwined.

Which.. speaking of intertwined fingers she was currently tugging at his. Their arms came down together and Levi let out a strained breath he hadn't even realized he'd held in.

"Levi.. I think I should tell you something."

Her face fell stern almost and Levi watched the quick movement of her throat as she swallowed.

"So.. in the store huh?"

"Huh!" Y/N stood taller, ripping herself unceremoniously from Levi. "Jean!" She chuckled nervously.

Jean let out his own little chuckle. "I know I never used to dance with you in the store. Glad you've got someone who would."

Y/N's eyes looked ready to pop from her skull and roll off. "I-I uh.. Jean it's.."

"Come, Connie and the others are already at checkout.

Y/N turned back to look at Levi as she quickly walked to follow Jean. And Levi could hear his teeth groan under the slight grit he administered. He yanked the basket up almost too fast storming after them with a grunt.

Jean had managed to cut the time to the line down by cutting across the aisles. That and he wasn't walking ridiculously slow with Y/N like some kind of old married couple.. Now that the image was place Levi actually began to wonder if that was how they looked together..

"Oi, how many times do I have to tell you to get out of the cart?" Jean asked as they finally joined everyone.

Sasha was a giggling mess inside the cart as Connie "unintentionally" tickled her stomach as he worked to remove items and place them on the conveyer belt.

"She can't right now or she'll crush some of the stuff." Connie replied

"She shouldn't have climbed in, in the first place." Y/N chimed in. "You know the way Connie pushes this thing is a hazard."

Sasha just let her head fall back in a fit of laughter as if that were the funniest thing she'd heard all year.

Y/N sighed quickly moving to help Connie as Jean moved past the three of them to the register.

"So how'd it go?" Erwin asked with a nudge as Levi lifted the basket up onto the edge of the conveyer belt.

"Jean interrupted us again."

"He's persistent." Erwin acknowledged "But then again I don't even know if he has to try, she seems kinda drawn to him on her own."

Levi watched as Jean and Y/N playfully fussed over the food sliding its way towards them. Their barely audible conversation including small remarks about the price and how they had definitely gone over the amount they had wanted to pay but Jean didn't let up.

"By the way where's Hange? And Moblit? I haven't seen them since we entered the store.."

Y/N was grabbing Jean's shoulder slightly rougher at this point her eyes rolling, teeth gritting together but she couldn't hide her smile. And Jean was still doing that thing that made Levi wanna shove him into on coming traffic.

His hand rested splayed on Y/N's lower back. And Levi had missed most of the conversation as it droned on lowly under the music blasting through empty aisles but this part actually struck him.

"You guys make a cute couple." The woman behind the counter laughed.

"See? She thinks we're cute." Jean took the opportunity as if it'd flung itself into his arms. Problem was it had. He pressed Y/N closer to him.

Though.. oddly enough Y/N only grinned, patting Jean's chest as he spoke with the cashier. Though.. her eyes trailed away and her smile was quickly fading. And Levi could see an opening.

He was moving faster than his brain could access the situation. "Y/N, I'll buy your milk for you." He managed, honestly proud of himself.

"Oh that's yours?" Jean asked suddenly snapped out from the conversation he'd been engrossed in. "It's cool Levi I got it."

"You've got everything else, let me." Levi replied

All the other groceries had already been piled at the end of the conveyer belt and Connie and Sasha were stuffing it back into the cart. Completely unaware of the current stare down that was happening right in front of them.

"Levi, I insist it's cool I have enough money." Jean retorted

"I already said I'd pay for it."

"You have your own groceries let me worry about the milk."

At this point Jean reached over but Levi was quicker snatching the milk off his basket and holding it to his chest like a newborn baby.

"Jean, just let him pay.." Y/N said

"I had already said I'd pay for you."

"Don't start this right now. Just let him pay for it so we can go."

At some point Moblit and Hange had rejoined the group and everyone was staring at the scene before them. Connie and Sasha with their hands deep in the chips Jean had paid for eyes wide with attention. Levi just looking to Y/N who was shaking her leg, arms crossed and hand on her forehead.

The cashier returned Jean's card and he almost snatched it away. "I'll pull the car up." He simply said

Y/N squeezed the bridge of her nose with her thumb and index finger and everyone stared in awe, Jean's figure retreating to the parking lot as Levi slowly placed his own basket of food onto the conveyer belt.

He felt Erwin brush a hand over his shoulder before giving him a look. He approached Y/N as if she were a rabid dog on a leash. His fingers clenching as he inched his hand closer until it was rubbing her arm.

His gaze fell away, "A-are you.. ok?"

Her lips twitched at the corners and she returned Levi's affectionate grasp. Squeezing his shoulder with one hand. "Don't worry too much about me." She replied

Though the statement didn't help at all.

The walk to the car was surprisingly slow and awkwardly silent. Connie pushing Sasha along as she practically inhaled another bag of chips. Hange and Moblit matching pace with each other with barely enough space between them to fit a piece of paper from the look of it. And Erwin back on his phone.

"Thanks." Y/N said suddenly and Levi stared up at her in confusion. She glanced over and a small huff of a laugh fell from her lips. "Dancing with me." She elaborated

"O-oh! No problem.."

When they got to the car Levi held the door open for Y/N and she slid inside with a smile patting the seat next to her. Which Levi quickly took. The rest of the seats filled in fast with Connie being the last one in after he'd shoved the food into the back.

"Buckle up." Jean grunted, he snuck a gaze into the rearview mirror that Levi almost smirked at.

Y/N's little yawn didn't go unnoticed and it was even harder not to notice the way she leaned into Levi's shoulder. Her hair tickling his skin and making the entire car impossibly hotter.

"I hope you don't mind." She muttered so only Levi could hear. "I just find you kind of comforting."

(Hey Siri, play Sweet by Cigarettes after sex)

[dismuch47]

STARTING POINT

Length: Longer than a drabble, but a one shot with no intention of continuing.

Marvel AU in which Vision (I’m calling him Paul) is the illegitimate child of Howard Stark. There are tensions between half-brothers, and this is the first time that they actually talk about something other than the strange family situation. And it happens to be about... a girl. I hope you enjoy.

This has been moved over from my deactivated blog, so no, this is not stolen if you recognize it.

“’Sup, nerd?” Tony let the door slam itself shut after flinging it open in a grand flourish. He flung his bag of dirty laundry on the mahogany dining table, let his leather jacket fall to the immaculately clean floor in a heap, and then trotted over to the kitchen fridge to excavate.

Paul shifted out of his cross-legged, curved shoulder posture (his studying posture) and sat up in a rigid manner. He placed his book on the cushion beside him, his lips in a thin line.

“Hilarious...considering your field of study in Quantum Mechanics and Theory, Anthony.” Paul called out for the other youth to hear. It wasn’t in his nature to give jabs to other people... but ever since Mr. Stark... or rather Paul’s biological father... had acknowledged the existence of a bastard son in England and the illegitimate child had been included into the multi-billionaire’s home at Mrs. Stark’s request... Paul had tried to rise to the challenge in order to “bond” with the golden son, Tony Stark. Apparently he only responded to sarcasm, rather than sincere attempts of friendship that Paul preferred.

Tony peeked his face from around the kitchen door, tilting the aviator sunglasses down from his face. “I study it, I don’t wear it. What is that, an argyle sweater vest?” His face disappeared once more as he grabbed one of his father’s choice beers from the fridge, closing the door shut with his hip.

“Mrs. Stark likes it...” Paul looked down placing a hand on the sweater vest. He didn’t dislike it... but he didn’t care for it. But anything was better then the second-hand clothing that was always too small for him back at the London shelter. And if it helped the mistress of this home approve of a bastard child more...

“Your mother will disapprove if she sees that rubbish on the dining table.” Paul warned his older half brother. He picked up his thick book and began reading again. “Why you insist on bringing that home when you can just-”

“Carmen. CARMEN will ‘disapprove’. I don’t think mother has done laundry or set a dinning table since her college days...” He slumped down in a white wing-backed chair across from the couch, separated by a glass coffee table. “Besides it’s all apart of the collegiate experience: announcing my arrival home with proof of my hard work and stank of my sheer brilliance.”

“Anthony, your father-”

“For the last time, it’s TONY.” He took off his sunglasses, his dark eyes like daggers at this blonde intruder of his home. He didn’t dislike Paul... he disliked how different Paul looked, sounded, and talked... forever reminding everyone in the household of his father’s infidelity. Of his mother’s pain... and tragic kindness for wanting this person to be part of the Stark family. The dark moment passed and Tony tossed his glasses carelessly to the glass table.

“...And dad can just deal with the mess.”

Paul’s blue eyes were cast downward, trying to resume his reading... recognizing the subtext of that wording, but Tony turned on the television to an outrageous volume, swallowed and sighed loudly over his beer.

“Tony-”

“Little brother, PLEASE.” Tony cut in. “Your bro is nursing a hangover at the moment.” He took another swig of beer. “Do you mind?”

There was no warmth in the word ‘brother’; it seemed more like a reminder that Paul was an outsider that Tony had to put up with. The lanky teenager began to slowly pack up his schoolwork, not feeling particularly welcome in the space...

Tony blinked darkly at the screen; images and colors barely managing to distract him from his mood... and guilt. He was mad at his father... not the accidental child resulting from unprotected sex. His brown eyes darted over to Paul, who was quietly collecting his things to leave.

“What are you reading?” Tony asked, monotone.

Paul blinked in surprise, then looked down at the book in his hand. “A Tale of Two Cities.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “This is why you are a nerd...”

“It is a school requirement.”

“Is it your first time reading it?” Tony raised a dark brow. “Or is it your 3rd or 4th time?”

Paul shut his mouth. It was his 5th. He couldn’t explain how it was that he was able to read so fast, or find a book so compelling upon a 5th or 6th reading. He traced his long fingers across the dog-eared pages.

“At the shelter, all I had was books. I...I like to revisit them...” He couldn’t meet the Stark’s brown eyes. “Like how Mrs. Stark likes to watch old movies over and over...she says they are ‘old friends’ that never change, but grow more enriching with each viewing.”

Tony looked down at the beer in his hand. That did sound like something his mother would say. He recalled her telling that to him. He also felt super awesome for reminding Paul about his life of poverty... which was still fresh. Tony turned off the tv.

“Fine. Books are the exception.” He finally looked over at Paul. “But you have GOT to get out of that gaming stuff if you ever want to get laid, Goggles.”

“Vision.”Paul corrected, a little too hastily. His hands held on to the book a little tighter. “It is live action role-play-”

“Oh my god, I can’t tell you how much I don’t care-”

“-And it is very therapeutic. It helps me get out the frustrations of being in a new home environment, learning American customs... feeling so different. According to Dr. Cho.” Paul defended, blossoming as he talked about this passion of his. “Vision is not just a character... he is an extension of my subconscious; trying to sort out and deal with my very average conflicts.”

“Yeah, that’s the ah...mutant...god... robot thing?” Tony asked, with a belch. Pretending to care was starting to give him a headache.

“Synthezoid.” Paul added.

“Right... with the magical jewel stone for... ultimate power?” Tony yawned

“Mind Stone.” Paul began realizing how stupid this all sounded. Tony had been present at the therapy session when Dr. Cho had explained how this experimental role play with peers might be good for Paul.

“Fascinating. I think I need to go whiz now.” Tony got up from his chair, setting the empty beer bottle, with out a coaster, on the glass table. “Well have fun with that sausage fest.”

“There are girls.” Paul blurted. “...A girl... there is one girl who does it too.”

Tony backed up, a bemused expression at Paul’s outburst. “I’m sure she’s a looker... geeking it up with the oily skinned, pimple-marked-”

“She is beautiful.” Paul’s tone took Tony aback; it sounded stoney firm and  indisputable. And Tony couldn’t help but feel a tiny bit emasculated with his younger half brother now towering above him.

“Prove it.” Tony beckoned.

Paul narrowed his eyes down Tony Stark, feeling it trivial to prove his truth... as if his best friend was some prized stock animal to be appraised. Tony didn’t deserve to gaze upon real beauty... but Paul was a teenage boy. And he wanted to make this college tech jock drool.

He sat down, pulling out his phone and searching for a picture of her. Tony plopped down beside him and yanked the phone out of his younger half-brother’s hands. Paul protested, reaching with his long arms, but Tony was athletic and broad. He put Paul in a headlock after a brief struggle, and scrolled through the pictures on the flip phone.

Tony gave a sigh at all the larp pictures... they were in COSTUMES. “Is that face paint? Really, Vision??? Oh my god, you are going to die a virgin...” Then he came across a larper who was entirely too hot to be hanging out with such nerds. “Whoa... whoooaaaa. Is that her?” Tony showed the screen to Paul, who was still gasping for air before pulling out of Tony’s lessening grasp.

“...Yes...” Paul tried to push his hair back into place.

“Name?”

“Scarlet Witch-”

“Her real name, idiot.”

“Wanda. Wanda Maximoff.”

“Russian? Like Natasha... oh what’s her name. You know, she’s a senior this year...”

“Wanda is from Sokovia.”

“Same difference.” Tony shrugged.

“Actually-”

“Which means she probably has one of those dusky european accents.” Tony stood up, looking at more pictures. “Please tell me she has a dusky accent.”

“...Yes.”

“Oh god.” Tony looked at the screen for a beat. “You’re sure she’s only in high school?”

Paul firmly took his phone back.

“Fine... too young for me. And way out of your league.”

Paul looked down at the screen. He knew that was true, but it didn’t hurt less to hear someone say it. “She is just a friend. My only friend.” He held on to the phone for a beat, then closed it. He returned it to his pocket and picked up his book that he had discarded on the table. His shoulders sagged, and the words on the page were blurring together. Completely unreadable.

Tony damned himself when he saw the effect that his teasing had on Paul. The oh so sensitive, yet robotic Paul. “Okay. I’m taking this away.” He took the book out of his half-brother’s hands and sat on the glass table, directly across from the tall teen. “You’re tall, you have a pensively sweet British accent, and some girls like the peach-fuzz stubble look. You just need to stop slouching, and you’d be any girl’s dream boat.”

Paul looked up. “You have said that I’m oafish, awkward, and that my dialect is ‘annoying as hell’.”

“I lied. It’s hard to compete with. I cut you down to make myself feel bigger. Thank you Dr. Cho.” That didn’t seem to make Paul feel better; he seemed to slump even more in his seat, eyes downcast at the floor. “What... what is this? I basically called you pretty and you're being a pooper. What’s  the problem?”

The blonde teen took a deep breath. “Steve Rogers.”

Tony blinked. “The star quarterback? The ruggedly handsome boy next door, class president, and so patriotic that he’s Captain America at all the Sunday Picnics? Sky-blue eyed, chiseled Adonis-bodied Steve Rogers? That Steve Rogers??”

Paul clenched his jaw and looked up at Tony.

“Oh man... good luck with that.” The Stark son gave Paul a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

Paul leaned back into the sofa, feeling defeated. He looked up at the ornate crown molding on the ceiling. “She does not talk about him all the time... but she stares at him constantly. She wants to take our roleplaying sessions out by the football field just so he can see her in her costume. She has even invited him to one... and he came. She only stayed by my side because she was too nervous to be alone with him. He smiles at her and I just... I...”

“Wait... so they haven’t hooked up?”

“...I do not believe so.”

“Has he told her he even likes her?”

“Yes... well... he told the group that he likes us and what we do. He’s actually really nice and great in battle, which is an absolute annoyance...”

Tony rolled his eyes. “And have you told her? How you feel about her?”

Paul looked down at Tony. He opened his mouth but closed it. He looked away, trying to find anything else to focus on, but Tony drumming his fingers against the glass table drew his attention.

“If I told her how I felt... and she did not feel the same...”

“Well Vision,” Tony said standing up with a stretch. “Don’t you at least agree it’s a good starting point?” He made his way to the kitchen to throw away his empty bottle.

Paul sat, thinking about all the scenarios in which he could get rejected by Miss Maximoff. But there was one hopeful scenario in which she, in her usual tender way, is caught off-guard. Her eyes would warm and a broad smile would light him on fire inside...as it always did.

“Perhaps.”

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs, “Hunting Hybrids.”

Hope you guys like this one, things are about to get very interesting. 

“This news is…. Most concerning, commander. And you disposed of all the creatures.”

“I…. did...regrettably. None of them were viable for life, but you must understand that If i run across one with some semblance of sentience that is not in pain that I will not be able to kill it, and I must insist that you do not either. I…. have a certain…. Attachment to hybrids.”

“Of course commander, we understand. However, Your spiderlings are the result of a natural process and not genetic meddling, but if you do run into a creature who is not tormented and racked with pain, then we urge you to bring them in for testing.”

“Yes ma’am. Have your scientists determined anything about the experimentation>” 

“We determined much, but  what we learned had only lead us to more questions than it has answers.” The rundi chairwoman gestures with her hand in a dismissive sweeping motion, “Your assumptions were right to begin with. The Prodigum were trying to splice human DNA with their own DNA. The way they were doing it was not particularly scientific. Each of the testing kits that you sent to us contained different variations of DNA implying that they were either trying to find a balance or their operation was being poorly run by people who did not understand what they were doing.”

“What do you believe they were trying to do?”

She turned in a circle facing away from him, “We are not entirely sure. With the human DNA we suspect that they were trying to obtain certain attributes of the human condition that would be beneficial to their own furtherment, though what it is I cannot say.

“The ability not to be ugly as hell.”

“What was that commander?”

“Nothing ma’am.”

“Very well, I want you to start in on this investigation. Figure out what other things they were doing, and determine if anyone else has this technology.”

He bowed his head, yes ma’am.” The line before him shut off and he stood on the center of the bridge hands behind his back.

“What you looking for?”

He turned around blinking in surprise when he found a large furry shape standing behind him.

Glados.

It always blindsided him at how big she was getting. She was as tall as Krill now, almost three feet in height, and the peach fuzz baby fur on her wolfish head and body had long since died off.

The hair on her face was short and tawny though the hair on the rest of her body was still prone to greyish, more like a tarantula than a human.

He took a seat in his chair, and she scuttled over resting her head on his lap.

He ran a hand over her ears, “I think something strange is going on.”

“Strange?” She wondered.

Behind him he heard the scuttling of two other forms as Hal and Glados came crawling onto the bridge.

Man they were getting massive. They were no longer big enough for him to carry, though they tried very hard to keep that traidiona alive, an attempt that usually left him lying on the floor in mock agony as they screeched at each other about having killed him.

“What are you going to do?” Cortana’s voice was warped and distorted, like he was hearing it through a static radio or the voicebox of a warped doll.

“Well, luckily for all of us, I think I know exactly where to start.”

*** Commander Vir and Sunny stood together on the slow-moving elevator into the abyss. Down in the chasm light passed by them on either side as the night life of Noctopolis went on at the fast-paced rhythm that it always had.

He leaned against the railing, while Sunny stayed planted in the middle of the platform.

“You know that if this thing drops and we fall, standing there isn’t going to keep you alive.” He mused.

“Yes, but it will keep me from accidentally falling off. Now get over here before you give me a heart attack.”

“Can Drev even have heart attacks.”

“Perhaps not in the same way, but it applies…. Please.”

He sighed, “Fine.” Stepping away from the rail and walking over to where she was standing.

“Why are we even here?”

“Because, I think I know some people who might be able to help us?”

“How is that.”

He taped his foot against the metal, “I have a sneaking suspicion that the prodigum weren’t the first people to come up with the idea of hybridization. I think that they were either trying to replicate, or someone sold them the secrets on how to do it, and if that is the case, why would someone want to make a hybrid.”

“Mix a human and a Drev and you get an indomitable warrior.” Sunny mused 

“There is that…. But who do you think might want a hybrid child.”

She looked on blankly at him, “One of those circus people/”

He shook his head and waved a hand, “I have a sneaking suspicion that this has something to do with hybrid couples.”

Sunny’s eyes widened, “You mean LFIL… “ She trailed off and he nodded 

“Think about it, if there is a market, A Tesraki is going to try and fill it. So say one of their friends is in a relationship with a man and one day they overhear how the couple really wants kids, but they can’t have them. They think about adopting, and that's fine, but one of them muses what would happen if it could actually work, and then the third gets a brilliant idea.” 

“I suppose it’s possible.”

“I suppose it’s probable, and while I like the LFIL guys, not all of the are going to be upstanding citizens who say no to experimental genetic testing.”

The elevator stopped and the two of them got off walking out into the underground tunnels.

“Where are we going.”

“I’ve been invited to come stop by in their area on one or two occasions, you know after what I did at the last protest.”

“Of course, leave it to you to make friends with literally everyone.”

HE smiled but kept walking shouldering his way down the alley until they finally reached the place he was looking for. Red and purple neon glowed around them, and --through the floor-- they could hear the driving beat of the music.”

Together the two of them pushed open the door and stepped into the dark hallway.

The walls before them were lined with images of little strings of lights. Most of them were depictions of couples in loving poses holding hands hugging or some other form of affection. Little plaques below the pictures read out their stories.

The commander and Sunny walked past these stepping into the large open room.

Music rattled the floor. On one half of the room humans and Drev danced to a driving beat, while on the other Tesraki, Finnari, Drev and Humans alike lounged about a s drinks were brought to them from the nearby bar.

More figures could be seen up on the balconies playing pool and darts and generally laughing.

Sunny stepped up beside him.

A live band played at the other end of the room.”

“Where do we start?” She wondered 

He motioned towards the bar, “Where everyone starts.”

Together they shouldered their way through the crowd, though they did not go unnoticed. As a few people turned to recognize them drinks were lifted or they were patted on the back given friendly smiles or waves of approval.

They had almost made it to the bar when most of the crowd turned to look at them.

The music cut off 

The commander sighed, “I was hoping that wouldn’t happen.”

“Is that the commander!” 

He grimaced and turned on the spot to face the stage where the live band had now turned the entire room to look at them, “It is you! Everyone give this man and his friend Sunny a round of applause!”

He felt his face go red as the entire room erupted in cheering.

He waved a hand trying to get them back to what they were doing.

A few of the people on the dance floor motioned them over, “Come dance with us!” They urged .

“Sorry guys, official business. Maybe later.”

They looked disappointed, but allowed the others to go on. The music started back up, but most of the attention was on them as they made their way over to the bar. When they got there, the bar tender was already waiting.

He was a very tall and skinny man with a studded jacket and a bright green Mohawk. At his side a Finnari was busy pouring drinks.

“Can I get official business a drink? It’ll be on the house.”

“Sorry, I don’t drink on duty”

“Not even soda, or juice.”

“Well I suppose that would be alright.” 

The punk smiled at the little Finnari, “You mind, dear.

She nodded and scurried off popping off a bottle lid and pouring the commander a glass while simultaneously passing Sunny another strange concoction which looked like someone was trying to marinate about half a cucumber worth of cucumber slices in some water.

Sunny seemed to enjoy it though.

“So what can we do for you.” 

He seemed almost eager to help the two of them out.

The commander took a sip of his drink, “Well, I can’t say specifics, but….. The GA discovered something recently, and whatever it is could be a game changer for the rest of the galaxy…. Do you know of anyone who has been approached by a group or organization that…. Claims to be able to splice two species DNA together?” he kept his voice low hoping that no one would hear him over the music.

He wasn’t expecting the reaction he got.

The man’s eyes immediately widened, and he held up a hand, “Hold on. There is someone I thin you need to talk to.” 

Sunny and him exchanged glances but, after a moment the punk bartender returned with two others. A tall woman and her Tesraki partner. The group of them shook hands as they returned before business got more serious.

“So…. you know something about this? The commander wondered.

They glanced at each other, “About… the DNA thing?”

He nodded.

The Tesraki snorted, “Someone approached us with some sort of business proposal, and of course I didn’t take it seriously. I know shady business practices when I see them, I said to silvia I says that they will probably tack on charges to us as everything goes along until eventually we owe them the house and the car.” He waved his hand, “Besides hybrids, there is just something I don’t like about that.”

“So someone approached you?”

“Targeted us more like.” The human said crossing her arms,  “Came up to us all shady like asking personal questions about our love life. About how we could have kids if we wanted how it wasn’t fair that we got to see other people with happy families where we can.” She snorted, “Bitch please, there are plenty of orphaned children out there that it would be more than a little selfish, in my opinion, to bring some kind of strange hybrid abomination into this world.”

“You didn’t take their offer seriously?”

“Of course we didn’t. It was probably some kind of scam anyway.”

“Has anyone else gotten these offers?” he wondered 

She paused, “Well not that I think about it a few people have, but all of us have sort of ignored it. No one that I know would willingly involve themselves in something like that. Genetic tampering is illegal after all other than for reasons of medical research.” The commander nodded, “And how about everyone else here. Do they share the same views as you…. Or do you think they would be willing to make a deal like that.”

He saw the answer in her eyes before she even said it.

She was unsure.

“Well.” She glanced down at her partner, “Now that I think about it. There are a few people… eccentrics mind you.”

The Tesraki leaned forward, “He means unstable. Our entire community isn’t a haven for the misjudged and oppressed. There are some real craizes in here for very wrong reasons. Some eccentrics who just think its fun to be different.” he glanced around, “They give the rest of us a very bad name, and I would wager to say that something like that would not be above them.”

“And where have these people been approaching you?”

The woman shrugged, “Usually in LFIL friendly bars like this one, but since this one was recently accepted by an establishment by the state things have cleaned up around here.

“I see.” he glanced at Sunny, “Looks like we have some work to do.” 

She nodded.

He smiled, “What do you think, what to be my date for a night out of espionage”

She snorted, “You’re gonna have to buy me a drink first.”

“Playing hard to get, I see how it is.” He glanced at the bartender, “Another one of those…. cucumber …. thingies but after that I’m going to need about five gallons of nail polish, some hair dye and a shitty prosthetic leg.”

“Kinky.” The bartender commented on his way back.

“You can shut your trash mouth. I don’t tell you how to spend your free time.” 

The group of them laughed for a minute as the commander moved back to being serious glancing back at the room full of people.

What might they know, and how many of them could potentially be involved.

He didn’t want to think ill of anyone, but desperation makes people do some strange things 

[johns-prince]

Make a Whole Fanfic of Fem!Paul Being Pregnant please?

Paula stared intensely in the full body mirror, stark naked, towel discarded at her feet. Had just finished her bath, water all drained from the tub for some time-- and as she'd been drying herself off, she had caught herself in the mirror.

In front of the mirror now, probably longer than five minutes, turning herself this way and that. She could only really see it, when she turned to the side and looked at herself that way; her stomach, with a noticeable bump.

She couldn't stop staring. There hadn't been any real, visible changes to her, physically, since she'd gotten pregnant. Cor they'd barely found out about nine, ten? weeks ago, and besides the occasional morning-evening-midnight sickness, and the slow start of cravings. She had noticed tenderness in her breasts, though that was easy enough to shrug off.

But there it was, a much more blatant sign that, Paula, was in fact pregnant. A little baby bump.

So enthralled with this newly discovered change, she hadn't even noticed someone hovering over at the doorway, watching, or when they entered.

"Paulie?"

A sharp intake of air, startled by not just the voice, but of familiar arms wrapping about, under her arms, and around her midsection. Looking up, staring back at her through the mirror, was John. Resting his chin on her shoulder, not at all bothered by the wet, damp pieces of her hair, tickling the side of his face. He had his glasses on-- seemed to be much more comfortable wearing them, after coming back from his filming in Spain.

She couldn't be more pleased.

She smiled, subtle at first, "Can't a girl get any privacy around here?" Her smile then grew alongside his. His arms tightened around her, and not entirely surprising, but certainly not appreciative, a large, warm hand craned up to cup her left breast. "You're the one who left the door open," he replied, lowly, almost whispered into her ear. He gave a squeeze, and Paula squeaked, followed by an unamused huff as she wiggled and squirmed her way out of his arms.

This time, he let her go, smiling in a way that made her want to sock him in the arm. How old were they, again?

"Don't be such a prude, Paulie," he prodded, getting a snort from the woman as she picked her towel back up, ignoring stubbornly how his eyes watched her like a hawk. Wrapping herself back up, she said, "I just washed, John, not even out of the bathroom yet." Towel tied, pulling her hair over one shoulder and leaning over as she proceeded to wring out her long, dark hair, she finally met his gaze; playful and provocative, mock-serious and annoyed. A bit of edge to her voice now, "If I'm such a prude you're more then welcomed to go kip it out on the couch." John's eyebrows lifted at that, smile gradually shifting to one of his smirks.

A standoff. Paula busying herself in twisting her hair to try and wring out as much water from it. John, moving to have his arms crossed over his chest, hip cocked out to the side.

She won the moment she flipped her hair back, and moved as if to walk past him, cool.

"Don't be like that," calloused hands, on her biceps, pulling her back to be standing before him, and stay there, in case she tried fleeing again. Doe eyes gazed up, her head having to tilt back some just so she could meet him, eye for eye. She didn't balk in her performative irritation at his childish treatment. He sighed.

"I came in here to check up on ya," he said, lightly, "Not just to cop a feel." She twitched at that, one of her perfectly shaped eyebrows subtly arching up. Hands caressing up, one stopping at her shoulder, the other moving against the side of her neck, and cradling the side of her face, she couldn't help the thrill that went through her. He continued, carefully, almost...shyly, "Everything had gone all quiet, so, got a bit worried, is all."

For a moment, neither really moved, but then Paula is pressing her cheek against his touch, gaze softening. "Say about anything t'not go sleep out on the couch, hmm?" She lets out an amused huff of air from her nose as John's gaze narrowed, mouth quirking. "Paula, I was worried," he reaffirms, giving a harmless little pinch to Paula's soft, round cheek.

"What were you doing, anyway? Staring at yourself?" He asks, catching as those hazel eyes glance sidelong at the mirror. Paula might be meticulous in her appearance but, that wasn't what John saw.

She sucks in her bottom lip, bites at it, only for it to slip loose as she responds, still looking over at the mirror. "I've a bump."

When there's no response right away, she glances back up at John, who, now has a bemused little expression. "Pardon?" A bump?

She repeats herself, softer, "My stomach... I've a, a baby bump." Felt funny, saying it. Left this, warmth, blooming in her chest. Could even feel her cheeks flush, leaving a lovely pink hue across her face.

And at first, it was like that little tidbit had to process for John, but even when it seemed like it did, his expression was... Unreadable. Taking a step back, amber eyes darting down from behind his specs, as if trying to look through her towel...

Then his hands are tugging free the towel from around Paula's body, her letting out a small sound of protest, though when she caught it, held it steadfast to her body, John grabbed at her hands. Looking up at him, an impatient glint in those eyes of his, "Let me, I want t'see."

Biting at the inside of her lip, she gives in with a soft sigh. Let's the towel drop, a light weight landing on the tiled floor.

There were only a few times in their relationship, that Paula had ever felt truly self conscious around John. The first might've been when they met at the Fete, which at times felt like only yesterday-- or a million, million years away. Most notable was their first time together, when they undressed each other in John's childhood bedroom.

And now, she found herself once again, feeling hot and uncertain, with John's serious attention, intense and precise. All of it on her stomach.

At first, he couldn't really see it (adjusted his glasses, even)-- not until he carefully, physically directed Paula to turn to the side-- which she did, with no protest.

And then he noticed. He noticed the subtle curve of her stomach. A little bump. When had this happened?

Paula turns herself back to face him, John goes down on one knee, and pulls her closer by his grip on her hips.

"John--" She tries, thinking perhaps he's going in for something filthy, only to have her words catch in her throat as she feels warm lips being pressed to her stomach, just below the naval. Has her sucking in briefly in a soft laugh, snorting, hand coming down to the top of his head, long, slender fingers lightly burying themselves in the auburn locks. "Tickles," she'd comment under her breath, though John doesn't seem to pay her much mind.

Once she settles, he's back to pressing lips to that little bump, making her shift and squirm bit as he presses his cheek to it, his whiskers a rough contrast to the soft, pale skin, covered in the lightest peach fuzz.

Quietly, she watches this, the hand in his hair gently petting, carefully curling strands around her fingers. John could be absolutely ridiculous.

And she loved him for it.

So she let him, for at least a couple minutes.

"Getting cold, Johnny." The slender hand, buried in his hair giving a playful little tug. His affections stopping, tilting his head back to gaze up at her through those long eyelashes.

With a grunt, John stood. The fondness in his eyes threatening to overpower her. Wondered if she looked just as hopelessly, foolishly besotted, too.

Completely discarding the towel, and in impulsive fashion, John would scoop his sweet darlin' up into his arms, laughing as she squirmed and snapped at him to put me down John Lennon!

But he didn't, course he didn't, and only put her down once at their bed. That night, John would fall asleep with his arm over Paula's side, hand pressed snuggly against her growing stomach.

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Make It Through The Night (Part 3)

(x)

Summary: The reader meets Dean’s friend, Benny, but everything isn’t as smooth sailing as it seems...

Masterlist

Pairing: Apocalypse!Dean x reader

Square: Dean Winchester

Word Count: 3,100ish

Warnings: langauge, minor violence

A/N: Written for @spngenrebingo​​​

_____

“Morning sunshine,” said Dean as you walked into the kitchen. “Eggs and rice for breakfast.”

“It’s hot. I ain’t complaining,” you said, fixing your arm in it’s sling.

“You change your bandages out yet?” he asked. You yawned and nodded, taking a seat at the counter. “Ever been shot before?”

“No. Hurts like a bitch,” you said, looking around. “So where’s the rice come from?”

“One of the largest rice distribution plants is about twenty minutes down the road. I stocked up,” he said.

“Smart move,” you said. “So where the hell am I exactly? This place I mean.”

“Short version, there used to be these guys, Men of Letters. My grandpa was one. This was their base of operations. They got wiped out in the fifties though,” said Dean. “They used to research monsters, how to kill them, that sort of thing. Through a very long series of events which started long before I was born, I wound up being raised by a hunter, my dad. Along with Sam. Hunters used to kill monsters back when the world was normal and no one knew about this stuff. After my dad died, it was me and Sam for a while and a whole bunch of other bad shit happened and then he got on demon blood and we went our separate ways. I ended up meeting my grandpa who traveled through time before he died and he told me about this place. It’s safe from monsters, demons, you name it. It runs itself. There’s a bunch of information in that library that might be useful. It’s pretty...I lost you at the time traveling grandpa, didn’t I.”

“If that’s the short version, I can’t imagine the long,” you said, resting your head against your palm. “You’re serious?”

“My life’s always been strange. Everyone else finally caught up a year ago,” he said.

“It’s completely safe here?” you asked.

“I mean, nothing is completely safe but it’s probably the safest place on the planet,” he said.

“Good,” you said, closing your eyes. “I could do with someplace safe.”

“It’s not pretty out there. The world now I mean,” he said, handing you a plate, your eyes fluttering open.

“Those guys were probably going to sell me to a monster...or a demon. It seems to be the hot commodity,” you said.

“Speaking of which, after breakfast, you’re gonna have to get tatted up,” said Dean. 

“Um, what?” you said as you started to eat.

“Tattoo,” he said, pulling aside his flannel and t shirt, showing off a tattoo on his chest. “Anti-possession. A demon can’t take over your body that way.”

“Oh. Yeah, that’s probably good to have,” you said. “You know how to do tattoo’s?”

“Personally, no but one of my friends should be getting back home soon. He was out on a supply run,” said Dean.

“Oh. Cool,” you said.

“Y/N,” he said, poking at his food. “I thought about last night, what we talked about, what you said. You’re right. I can’t kill Sam. I never could. I don’t want to kill him. It’s my job to fucking protect him. I’m not going to give up on him. I want to try to talk to him, figure out how to catch him and get him off of the demon blood, get rid of his powers. That’s the only option. I know you offered but I won’t go down that road.”

“No killing Sam. Okay,” you said with a nod. “We’ll figure something out then.”

“Thank you,” said Dean. 

Thirty minutes later you were in the library trying to figure out some basics about demons when the front door opened and man in combat gear came walking down the stairs with a box.

“I found you extremely stale gummy bears. You’re welcome,” said the man, setting the box down on the war room table, staring at you. “Cher.”

“What?” you asked, glancing at Dean.

“It’s a nickname thing he does. Y/N, this is Benny. Ex-vampire I met in purgatory. Benny, this is Y/N. Met her yesterday when a few unscrupulous fellas were on my property again,” said Dean.

“Vampire,” you said, instinctively getting out of your seat and taking a few steps back.

“Ex-vampire,” said Dean as he flipped through a book. “He doesn’t bite.”

“Unless you’re into that,” he smiled, flashing you a wink.

“Dude. I get that the dating pool is limited but-”

“Excuse, Dean,” said Benny, ruffling his hair as he went past and took a seat. “He’s a worrier. Plus it’s fun to tease him. He’s totally into you anyways.”

You blinked slowly, Dean giving Benny a bitchface.

“Let’s not scare off the first company we’ve had in oh, months? Hm?” said Dean.

“Ignoring the purgatory part of that sentence for right now, how does one become an ex-vampire?” you asked, staring at Benny.

“Ordinarily there’s a cure but it only works if the person has never tasted human blood and if you have the fang of the vamp that turned you. Benny though...well when we got out of purgatory, he was still a vamp,” said Dean.

“I was almost at the point of asking Deano to end it for me. I knew I would break and hurt someone. But the world decided to go to shit and I drank from an infected person. I got really sick. Majorly sick,” said Benny, peeling off his boots and kicking up his feet in a nearby chair.

“We tried the cure, figured what the hell and now Benny is as human as the day he was born,” said Dean. “He’s like really fucking old by the way.”

“Shut up,” said Benny, pushing Dean’s face, a smile popping up on it for a moment. “So ex-vampire. No need to be afraid.”

“Alright,” you said as you sat back down. 

“What’s with the chicken wing?” asked Benny, nodding at you.

“Shot yesterday. Graze on the arm, through and through in the shoulder,” said Dean, flipping through his book again. “Y/N’s gonna stay here, help with the Sam situation.”

“Good. We could always use a few more hands,” said Benny.

“How many hands are there?” you asked.

“There’s a network of hunters out there. It’s not huge but it’d be useful to get close to Sam,” said Dean. “Plan’s changed by the way, Benny. We take him alive and cure him or it’s the end of us.”

“Whatever you want, brother,” said Benny, standing up with a sigh. “I’ve been on the road all night. I’m gonna shower and crash before I have to head out again.”

“I’ll need a tat done before you go. Gonna stick around more than a day for once?” asked Dean.

“I’ll be here a few days. I know you miss this pretty face, Deano,” he said. Dean rolled his eyes and Benny wandered off down a different hall. 

“So purgatory...no one can ever say you have not led a full life,” you said. Dean chuckled and leaned back in his seat. 

“Full of horrors. But yeah, I suppose you’re right. It’s been interesting,” he said.

“Did you like...die,” you said, Dean cocking his head. “Purgatory.”

“No. Accidentally wound up there when I killed a special kind of monster. I met up with Benny there. We found a way out together,” said Dean. “Just because a monster is a monster...they can be your friend too. I got a buddy who’s a werewolf actually.”

“Here I thought study abroad would make me exciting,” you said. Dean smiled and slid over his book to you.

“Read this one. It’ll give you some good info. We’ll go over some good ways to kill demons maybe later in the week,” he said.

“I’m not a soldier. I don’t know...everything I know, I picked up on my own,” you said.

“I’m pretty confident in your abilities,” he said. “We don’t have to go after Sam this second. Something like this, we need to know our game plan first and I don’t even know where to start so focus on healing and training a bit for now.”

“Alright,” you said, Benny cutting back in wearing nothing but his boxers.

“Dude. We have a lady in the house now,” said Dean.

“She can walk around in her underwear too. I don’t care,” said Benny, going to the box and pulling out a bottle of soap. 

“You and your old spice you freak,” said Dean.

“Don’t knock it,” said Benny. “There’s some shaving cream in there too in case you decide to shave that peach fuzz.”

“Asshole,” said Dean as Benny laughed, carrying the box away with him.

“I like the beard,” you said with a shrug.

“See, brother? Match made in heaven right here,” he said.

“Oh shut up,” said Dean. “Go get clean. You smell filthy.”

“Whatever you say,” he said, whistling as he went.

“Sorry. He’s a bit...Benny sometimes,” said Dean. 

“I like him,” you said, glancing through the pages.

“You actually like the beard?” he asked. Your eyes glanced over and met his, noticing just how pretty of a green they were. 

“It suits you. You look like some badass or something,” you said. He smirked and you rolled your eyes. “Oh my God. I can only handle one man-child at a time.”

“Speaking of badasses, you’ll need some new gear. I’ll take a look around in storage,” he said. “Also, I am so not a man-child.”

“Gummy bears?” you said with a smile.

“Touche,” he said, grabbing his notebook and jogging up into the library. “You get bored of reading come find me. I’m sure we can find something for you to work on.”

“Hey,” said Dean a few hours later. You let out a hiss and grit your teeth, Benny wiping off your bicep. “How’d she do?”

“She was good,” he said. “Barely made a peep.”

“How’s it look?” you asked.

“Good,” said Dean. “It’s just a precaution we have to take.”

“No, it’s fine. I probably should have gone with the right arm is all,” you said, wincing a bit. 

“Come on you two. Dinner’s done,” said Dean. You followed him back down the hall while Benny turned off the equipment. Dean plopped a bottle of pills in front of you at the table. You shook your head and he took two out, putting them on your plate. “Y/N. Take the pain meds. It’s fine.”

“So you come up with anything today?” you asked as Benny joined you, diving into his bowl of stew.

“Maybe. I was thinking Ben, we could retrofit the dungeon, turn it into a holding cell, detox chamber kind of thing,” said Dean.

“It could work. How we get him inside is another problem,” said Benny.

“Do you think you could work on gathering materials, figuring out the best way to build a safe room?” asked Dean.

“I can think of something. I’ll head up North, visit Donna. She’s good with that sort of thing,” said Benny.

“So are you two an item yet or are you still living in denial?” asked Dean, giving him a smirk.

“Who? Me and Donna?” scoffed Benny. “No way. Strictly platonic. We both been burned before.”

“I know about the camping store incident,” smirked Dean. “Benny bear.”

“Fine. We’re dating. You girls gonna chat about this too?” he said, crossing his arms.

“Maybe. We do love to talk about boys and braid our hair,” teased Dean. “Nah, man, that’s great. You and Donna make a good team. Tactically.”

“Shut up. Worse than a high school girl,” said Benny. “You see what I’ve been dealing with during the end of the world?”

“Is she cute?” you asked, Benny throwing up his hands.

“Oh yeah,” said Dean with a laugh. “Donna’s a pretty girl. Sweet as can be but she’s tough. She and Jody…”

He trailed off and pursed his lips, Benny nodding.

“Jody didn’t make it,” said Benny. “Demons. If you guys are all set, I’m gonna head out soon.”

“You travel at night?” you asked.

“Safer actually,” said Dean. “Most of the infected people, they still sleep for some reason. Benny can get up to Sioux falls by dawn pretty good this way.”

“Write down any gear you think you may need,” he said, finishing off his drink before he took off.

“Why is he leaving already?” you asked. “He just got here this morning.”

“He has a job to do and I told it to him,” said Dean. “Benny moves at his own pace. If he wants to go tonight, he can go, I won’t baby him.”

“Doesn’t he want to rest?”

“Benny crashed most of the day. He’s good,” said Dean. “Unlike you. Early bedtime tonight.”

“What are you, my mother?” you mumbled.

“Do I need to be?” he asked. You rolled your eyes and went back to your food, Dean finishing his off before he started to pick up. 

You closed your eyes and rested your head against the table.

“I feel funny,” you said. “Did you drug me?”

“It’s the pain med’s, dumbass. They’re kicking in. It’s pretty strong stuff,” he said. He walked over and sat you upright. “Finish your food and then you can sleep.”

“Or you drugged me,” you said, reaching for your knife. Dean quickly knocked it away and you pulled the gun out of the back of his pants. He froze as you turned off the safety. 

“Y/N. Calm down. No one’s going to hurt you,” said Dean.

“Back up,” you mumbled. He stared at you before you were suddenly on the floor, gun back in his hands.

“Are you infected?” he asked, aiming the gun at you. “Are you?”

“Whoa,” said Benny as he came rushing back in. “What the hell is going on in here?”

“She thinks I drugged her which is insane,” said Dean.

“This ain’t pain medication, dip shit,” you said, flipping him off as you propped yourself up against the wall, the cold floor making you shiver. “Fuck you. You’re the one that’s nuts, not me.”

“You’re both idiots,” said Benny. He walked over to you and reached behind his back, a pair of restraints around your wrists. You shoulder would have been killing you if it weren’t for the drugs. “I drugged her.”

“Excuse me,” said Dean, suddenly lowering the gun and tucking it away. “You did what, Benjamin?”

“I heard of this chick, the second you said her name I knew who she was. She knows Sam.”

You shook your head when Dean slowly turned and stared you down.

“I don’t. I swear,” you said.

“I definitely heard of some demon talking about this chick right here and Sam,” said Benny. 

“You’re thinking an inside job?” asked Dean, pulling the gun out again.

“Possibly. Could be a human that decided to side with what she thinks is the winning side,” said Benny. “Could be a lot of things but point is, we can’t trust her.”

You were too tired to say anything more, simply sat there and shut your eyes, trying not to think of how odds are you wouldn’t be waking up again.

“Y/N,” said Dean. You breathed slowly, Dean’s hand on your shoulder shaking you. “Y/N. You with Sam or not?”

Last thing you remembered you slumped over, straight to the ground.

“Hey,” said Dean. Something wet was on your forehead, a washcloth if you had to guess. It took a moment for you to get your bearings, finding yourself in your room strangely. “Relax. You’re okay.”

“Drugged me,” you said, frowning at him, pushing the washcloth away. “Asshole.”

“Benny made a mistake,” said Dean.

“I wanna go,” you said, shutting your eyes, head swimming. “Let me go.”

“You can go. Just let this stuff get out of your system first,” said Dean. He took the cloth away and you scowled when he put it back. “I’ll make up your bag for you.”

Four hours later you were standing in the garage, trying to get your bag on unsuccessfully.

“Y/N,” said Dean quietly. “Maybe you should stay.”

“Maybe you need better friends,” you said, throwing the bag on, immediately shooting a hand to your shoulder. You sniffled and swallowed hard, giving Dean a dirty look when he stared at you. “What?”

“We both know that if you go out in your condition, the first sign of trouble and you’re dead,” he said.

“What do you care?” you said. You tried heading out but the pain was too much and you had to shrug off the backpack. 

“Something is going on. Benny was adamant that he heard something involving you. I was adamant that whatever your part in this is, you aren’t the bad guy,” said Dean. “You know how it is now. You can’t take chances and Benny wasn’t taking one. But I will.”

You sighed and set the bag down.

“Why?” you asked dryly.

“Because you’re not the bad guy. If you want to go, you can go. Or you can stay and recover and maybe you can help me save my brother.”

You spun around and went past him, heading inside.

“Next time something like that happens, I shoot. No questions asked,” you said. “And don’t think I didn’t realize you put a brick in the bottom of my bag.”

“Welcome back, Y/N.”

_____

A/N: Read Part 4 here!

[spaceskam]

small examples of mistakes i made and stupid things i did

for @saadiestuff ❤️️

ao3

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Literally, why would you say that? That’s what people say before the worst happens.”

Michael shrugged haphazardly as if none of it mattered. Which is quite on par with the way he was feeling lately. Liz’s tests were becoming more out of fun than necessity and he’d jumped right on board. He liked being the test subject to see what would happen and he was throwing caution to the wind. Two weeks prior, they’d discovered something similar to extra-strength alien speed which kept him up for over 24 hours and required a babysitter. Two weeks before that, they’d found alien sleeping meds.

“You’re getting so fucking reckless,” Liz said, not even trying to hide the giddy tone in her voice. 

Kyle stood in the corner with crossed arms and irritation on his face. They’d agreed about two months ago that they should always have another person with them when the dose was administered because they didn’t want a repeat of the time that she’d given him something that made him ridiculously angry. Bad times.

“Alright, hit me with it,” Michael urged, slapping his arm.

Liz cleaned the space with alcohol and tied a tourniquet around his arm before injecting the purplish serum. Then they waited. And waited. And waited.

“Are you even feeling anything?” Liz asked, frowning as she pressed the back of her hand to his forehead. He shook his head and she frowned a little deeper.

“Nothing.”

“That’s so weird,” she said. Kyle pushed himself off the wall and walked a little closer.

“What were you expecting it to do?” Kyle wondered. Liz traveled back to her notes and double-checked she’d given him the right thing.

“Well, it was only a tweaked version of the alien Adderal mix, so it should be closer to like an over the counter caffeine pill,” Liz said, her frown turning into a pout, “You seriously don’t feel anything?” 

“Nope,” Michael confirmed, but he wasn’t too concerned about anything. Sometimes it took a while for things to kick in. They’d just gotten too used to automatic results. “I’ll just give it some time and I’ll let you know what happens.”

“Okay,” she said. Michael pulled the tourniquet off and hopped down, feeling slightly woozy for a minute to the point that he had to grab the stool for balance. “What was that?”

“I don’t know,” he said, his eyebrows furrowing. Once he got himself stable, he didn’t feel any more effects. “I just got lightheaded for a second.”

“We should take his blood pressure,” Kyle said. Liz grimaced a little bit.

“We don’t actually know what normal would be,” she said softly. Kyle gave her that look that was typically directed at Michael and it was weird to see it given so freely to Liz. Maybe he was finally getting over her. A part of Michael was proud of him and that felt even weirder than that time he got doused with an anxiety eraser that removed all sense of inhibitions and he kissed Liz.

“Are you telling me you guys have spent almost six months doing dumb shit when you could’ve been tracking things like, I don’t know, blood pressure?” he demanded. They both smiled tightly. “I hate you both. Guerin, I’ll drive you home just in case it did lower your blood pressure and you get dizzy while driving, okay?”

“Okay,” he agreed after being hit with a wave of fatigue. He wasn’t really in the mood to disagree and that had everything to do with the impending lecture from Kyle, Max, and Alex if he got in a wreck when he knew he was dizzy. 

“Liz, I’ll make you a list of important stuff to work on after this is out of his system,” he explained. Liz pouted, but she nodded her head regardless.

They said their goodbyes and started making their way towards the car, Kyle grabbing Michael’s arm every time he stumbled. He was definitely light-headed. 

“So, what, we think it lowered my blood pressure?” Michael asked, ignoring the way his stomach started to ache in the way it did when he was hungover. Kyle pursed his lips and looked at him, pressing his hand to his forehead like Liz had.

“You’re getting colder and you’re dizzy. Are you nauseous? Tired? Struggling the breathe? Feeling dehydrated, maybe?” Kyle listed. Michael relaxed in the seat, his face involuntarily forming a frown at the sick feeling in his stomach continued.

“Tired and nauseous. What does dehydration feel like?” he asked. Kyle didn’t really answer, he just started the car.

“Yeah, I’m thinking it’s low blood pressure. Keep me updated if it gets any worse on the drive. I’ll stop and get you water and then I’ll fill Alex in so he can keep an eye on you tonight. You should be okay as long as it doesn’t get too much worse,” he explained. Michael nodded and closed his eyes, trying to think of anything else so he didn’t throw up. This was probably his least favorite lab rat experiment ever if this feeling was concerned.

The drive was agonizingly slow and his nausea seemed to only get worse. Eventually, he caved and got Kyle to pull over, which led to him just gagging with nothing to show for it until his body was done going through the motions so he could get back in the car. When they stopped to get water, Michael could only take a few sips before he started shivering and Kyle gave him a jacket from his backseat.

“I would lecture you, but I’ll save that for when you’re feeling less pathetic,” Kyle told him. Michael just groaned and huddled into the doctor’s jacket more. It was taking way too long to get to Alex.

Eventually, though, they pulled up to the cabin and Buffy leisurely made her way around from the backyard to see who pulled up. Alex followed with a smile on his face that turned to confusion when he saw it was Kyle’s car and not Michael’s truck.

“Your boyfriend finally got his comeuppance for being Liz’s lab rat,” Kyle said.

“Say that word again and I’ll puke on your shoes,” Michael grumbled, slowly sliding out of the passenger seat. Both men came to his aid. “I’m fine, I just need to sleep it off.”

“Yeah, we think he has low blood pressure, but I can’t be 100% sure because we have no reference point.”

“Liz doesn’t have a reference point? What the hell?”

“That’s what I said!” Kyle scoffed. Michael halfheartedly mocked him before puckering his lips in Alex’s direction. He rolled his eyes, but he pecked his cheek nonetheless. “But basically I just need you to keep an eye on him to make sure his symptoms don’t get worse. Right now, I’m not really sure what we can do but wait.”

“Okay, I can do that,” Alex said, helping him up the steps of the cabin which was a strange role change for them. Still, Kyle and Alex led him to the couch and covered him up with a blanket and shoved the water bottle in his face.

They spoke for a few more minutes as Michael made himself comfy, feeling like shit for an annoyingly prolonged time. Was this how humans felt? Because, if so, he suddenly had an entirely different level of empathy.

After Kyle left, Alex came over the couch and sat on the coffee table. Michael peeked an eye open just enough to see him lifting Buffy onto the couch where she happily snuggled behind his bent knees with her head on his thigh. Then Alex gave him a sweet smile.

“You feel bad, baby?” he cooed, reaching out to comb his fingers through his hair. Michael nodded slightly and Alex gave an exaggerated pout, leaning forward to press a kiss to his forehead. “I’ll make dinner and then we can go to bed early, how’s that sound?”

“Good,” Michael croaked. Alex just gave another smile and another kiss and left him.

Michael drifted in and out of sleep as Alex cooked for them. Eventually, he came to him with a bowl of soup that was clearly meant for them to share. Alex fed him like he was helpless, carefully giving him spoonfuls. He’d honestly never felt so loved in his entire life.

By the time Alex was finished with the dishes, Michael was feeling a little more steady and he was able to follow Alex to bed without much assistance. Buffy followed them with heavy footsteps and settled in her bed as Michael collapsed in his. Alex gave a low, warm chuckle as he got ready for bed while Michael slowly got out of his jeans.

“Thank you for being nice to me,” Michael said once Alex climbed into bed and turned off the lights.

“Of course I’m taking care of you, I love you,” Alex said. Michael managed a smile.

“Well, thank you for loving me.”

“No problem.”

Going to sleep was easy. Staying asleep, however, was harder than anticipated. Some time during the night, Michael became so overheated that he was sweating through his clothes and he’d kicked the blankets off of himself. He woke up at another point with his heart pounding in his chest to the point he was convinced it was a heart attack, only soothed by Alex’s half-asleep petting and shushing. He eventually passed out for the final time by stripping completely and laying on top of the blankets, heavy-breathing into the dark void of the room.

Still, he woke up the next morning before Alex. He felt better, though, if only a little worn out from his night of bullshit. He dragged himself to the bathroom and then, only then, did he notice it.

He looked in the mirror and he was bald. Fucking bald. With some extra checking, he realized it wasn’t just bald, but he was entirely hairless. No hair on his chest, arms, legs, face, nothing. He couldn’t even find any remnants of peach fuzz. 

“Oh, no,” he whispered, his panic slowly rising the more he realized that he wasn’t hallucinating. This was, in fact, reality. And wasn’t that just a bitch? 

Michael scrambled back to the room and all but vaulted over Alex to get to his phone, his hands shaking as he searched for Liz’s contact information. Alex stirred and Buffy made a low boof from the commotion which just made Alex stir more. Michael froze for a minute. Alex couldn’t see him like this. That was absolutely not even kind of an option.

He ran back to the bathroom and locked the door behind him, sitting on the floor to make sure he didn’t have to look at himself in the mirror again. He didn’t want to see it. But still, he called Liz.

“Mikey?” she said sleepily when she answered, “It’s, like, 6 in the morning. What do you want?”

“What the fuck was in that serum?!” he demanded. She didn’t answer right away. “Well?”

“Michael, you helped me create it. You know what was in it,” she said, a little more awake this time, “Why? What’s going on?”

“I-I-” he said. Michael lifted himself up just a little more to catch sight of his reflection one more time before groaning and falling back to the floor. “All of my hair is gone!” 

“What?” Liz demanded. 

“I look like a hairless fucking cat,” he whined, staying laid on the floor instead of even trying to face his reflection in the mirror. What the hell was he supposed to do now? He couldn’t let anyone actually see him like this.

“Okay, um, I’ll come over, do some tests, see what went wrong. I don’t understand,” Liz said. Michael whined even louder.

“Michael, are you okay? There’s fucking hair all over the floor, did you shave your head or something?” Alex asked suddenly. Michael’s eyes widened and he put his full weight on the locked door so Alex couldn’t come it.

“Hurry and bring something to fix it,” Michael hissed, ending the call before she could speak. Alex knocked against the door.

“Michael? What’s going on? Do I need to call Kyle?” Alex asked sweetly. Michael simply groaned. Why did he have to be nice? And why did he want to call Kyle, the guy with the ridiculously good hair? He already had Liz coming over and she was basically a fucking hair goddess.

“I’m fine,” Michael told him.

“Well, open up,” he urged, “Let me make sure you’re not, like, going hysterical.”

“Trust me, I wish I was hysterical,” Michael answered, throwing his head back against the door. Except it was bare skin again the cold door with no barrier to soften the blow and he couldn’t help but make a disgusted face. When he rubbed the back of his head, the disgust only got worse. Even that time one of his foster families shaved his head didn’t feel as bad as this. 

Alex, however, was being suspiciously quiet for a suspicious amount of time. It wasn’t like him to just fold so easy and Michael put his ear to the door to see what was going on. Which is when the door clicked unlocked and started to push open. Michael pushed on it as hard as he could.

“Michael.” 

“Don’t come in!”

“You’re worrying me, tell me what’s going on.”

“I’m fine! Just-just leave me alone!” Michael told him.

Alex was quiet for a minute before he said in the softest, most ‘I’m only speaking because I’m anxious and my therapist said I need to talk about my feelings when that happens’ voice ever, “I don’t like this.”

Michael groaned, his stomach twisting with his internal battle. He was cold and hairless and gross and he wasn’t really ready for Alex to see him like that. In fact, if he never had Alex see him like that, then he would gladly avoid him. But this was stressing Alex out and that made it hard to stay.

“Promise me you won’t laugh,” he said, “Or think I’m ugly and break up with me.”

“What? Why would I ever think you’re ugly?” Alex asked, “Did you shave your head?”

“Um, not exactly,” he said, reaching with his foot to grab a towel to tie around his hips. This was actually freezing. How did people function with no hair?

Eventually, he managed to get over himself, wrapped the towel around his waist, and let Alex open the door. He closed his eyes so he didn’t have to see Alex’s initial reaction. If Alex thought he was ugly, then he probably would never be able to get that image out of his head.

“Okay, what happened?” Alex wondered softly. Michael managed to peel his eyes open. Alex stood, leaning heavily on his crutches with his features schooled as if waiting for more information before he showed any type of reaction. 

“I don’t know,” Michael whined, keeping his back to the mirror. He didn’t want to even kind of look at himself. “I just, I got really overheated last night and then I woke up like, like this.” 

“Okay, okay,” Alex said softly, stepping closer, “It’s okay.”

“I look disgusting.”

Alex rolled his eyes, finally showing some reaction. 

“You do not.” Michael glared at him. “Okay, look, it’s a little different, but it’s, not, like horrible.”

“It’s horrible.”

“No, it’s not.”

“I have no body hair. At all. I look like a pre-pubescent boy who stuck his head in Nair,” Michael shot back. Alex grimaced.

“Okay, don’t say that, that makes me feel gross for still finding you attractive.” Michael’s shoulders relaxed a little.

“You still think I’m attractive?” he asked. Alex rolled his eyes again.

“Michael, I love you for you, not for your looks. Sure, it’s an... adjustment, but you aren’t ugly or gross,” he promised, moving closer. He kept both of his crutches in clutch and leaned in to kiss his cheek. Somehow, it still didn’t make him feel any more secure. “Now, I’m gonna go call Liz.”

“I already did, she’s on her way,” Michael said. Alex nodded.

“Good. Now get out of my bathroom, get dressed, and clean up the hair,” he said. Michael nodded and left the bathroom.

Michael avoided the three mirrors that were in the bedroom like the plague as he made his way to the closet to get dressed. Typically, he liked the mirrors. He liked them a lot. Right now, though, he wanted to forget. He put on socks that covered his smooth calves, his only pair of jeans with no holes, a t-shirt, a button up, and topped it off by stealing one of Alex’s beanies that he pulled down to wear his eyebrows used to be.

Then he went to sweep up the hair which hurt him a lot more than he expected. It felt like a special kind of torture knowing that he just had to deal with it. He was mournful and achy about the entire thing. He wanted his hair back. 

Once he got it all in the dust pan and in the trash, he collapsed back in bed. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt so low. Or the last time Alex’s compliments didn’t make him feel better. This was truly his rock bottom.

“You look so sad,” Alex sighed as he came back into the room, sitting at the bench on the foot of the bed to put on his prosthetic. “Do I say I told you so now or later?”

“Never,” Michael grumbled into the pillow. If he stayed there, nothing could get worse. “Please, never.”

He heard Alex stand up and walk to the side of the bed, patting him on the ass as he kissed his hat-covered head. His hairless, hairless head. 

“I’m gonna go let Buffy out and make some coffee and then Liz should be here and we’ll figure it out, okay?” Alex said, still sounding sweet instead of condescending despite the fact that he knew he wanted to say he told him so. Because he had. They all had. It was going to bite him in the ass, they said. He just hadn’t expected it to be so bad.

“Okay,” Michael agreed, still not moving. He didn’t want to.

“You poor, poor baby.”

Michael laid in bed for awhile, trying to distract himself as best he could from the fact he felt like a newborn baby. Or a mannequin. Or both. He groaned and rolled onto Alex’s side of the bed to try and get rid of that horrible feeling in his stomach. He didn’t even let himself think about work in the morning.

Eventually, the smell of coffee came closer with the sound of two pairs of footsteps. With it came the crushing embarrassment of having not one, but two witnesses to the way he looked. And to think, he thought he was done with embarrassment after the fifth time he went to school with bruises back in Albuquerque.

“Tell him he looks fine,” Alex said. Liz snorted slightly.

“Michael, it’s really not that big of a deal. I mean, you didn’t really have eyebrows to begin with and that’s the major thing that makes someone look weird,” Liz explained. He lifted his head just enough to glare at her. She sighed and came closer. “You know, after Rosa died and I left town, I cut all my hair off and I felt really ugly too.”

“That’s not the same thing. You did that on purpose. I didn’t want this,” Michael explained. 

“Yeah, okay, but it’ll be okay. I mean, look, let me check your vitals. If it just made your hair fall out and didn’t effect your hair follicles, it’ll just looked like you shaved it in, like, a week. It’ll grow back, it’s just hair,” Liz told him. He still pouted. “It’ll grow back.”

“I feel naked.”

“Yeah, well, you like being naked,” Alex pointed out. Michael sighed. “Look, it just feels this bad because it’s new. I promise you, you’ll feel better after you get used to it. I did whenever I had to shave my head for basic.”

“You promise?” he said.

“I promise. This is as low as you’ll feel,” he said. Michael reluctantly sat up.

“I’ll hold you to it.”

He let himself be dragged into the kitchen where Alex gave him coffee and doused him in kisses. Liz took his vitals and a blood sample. The little check-up proved that he was basically back to normal, just hairless. But there was no obvious sign that it was going to affect his hair growth in the future which did make him feel a little better.

“So, as far as I can tell, your blood pressure dropped so low that that your body over-corrected by spiking your blood pressure. And, because your alien genes are insane, instead of gradual hair loss, it just all fell out at once. And I’m assuming it’s only because it got so high,” Liz explained. Michael let out a sigh and Alex pressed a kiss to his neck.

“See? I told you, you’re fine,” Alex told him.

“I think this is the most PDA I’ve ever seen you give, Alex,” Liz said with a smile. 

“He’s only doing it to make me feel better,” Michael said. Alex hummed and pressed another kiss to the side of his head.

“You know me so well,” he cooed. Michael rolled his eyes and managed a smile. 

“Right, well, I’ll let you know if anything weird happens when I look at your blood sample and just keep me updated on your hair re-growth. Maybe I can try to make a hair gr—“

“Nope. I’m gonna retire being a lab rat for a little while,” Michael said. He didn’t even have to look at Alex to know he was happy about that choice. “Maybe let’s stick to actually looking for something useful and then we’ll talk?”

“Okay, I can get behind that,” Liz agreed, holding her hand for Michael to shake. 

That night, Michael found himself back in bed and laying on Alex’s chest. It felt weird to feel his breath on his bare scalp, but he did feel a little more comfortable over all. It was slightly easy to forget how he looked as long as he didn’t have to look at it. 

“I am gonna miss playing with your hair, though,” Alex whispered, rubbing his head gently. 

“I’m gonna miss you playing with my hair,” he said. Alex responded by kissing him which was a very weird sensation. Definitely not a bad one, but a weird one. “Maybe I’ll grow back eyebrows this time.”

“I wouldn’t get your hopes up,” Alex laughed. Michael smiled and turned over, trying his best to get comfortable with his nose pressed into his collarbone. Alex, in turn, grabbed his chin and pulled him into a kiss. The kiss deepened just a little and Alex grabbed the side of his face. “Your ears are so cold.”

“Right?” Michael said, pulling out of the kiss to look at him, “Like, my entire head is fucking freezing since I took your hat off.”

“Aw, my poor baby,” Alex said, his pout slowly slipping into a laugh, “C’mere, I’ll warm you up.”

Michael laughed his way through it as Alex pulled his face into his neck and wrapped his arms around his head. It was warmer, he couldn’t lie. So, he snuggled up to him, feeding off of his body heat for once. 

“Okay, this started as a joke, but I’m actually warm and comfy,” Michael said, his voice muffled against Alex’s skin. Alex gave a soft, tired laugh.

“I’ve got you,” Alex said, “Also I like that your legs are so smooth, is that what it feels like to sleep with a girl?”

“Alex, you’ve slept in the same bed as girls multiple times.”

“I didn’t feel their legs with my foot, that’s weird.”

“You’re doing it do me.”

“You’re my boyfriend, leave me alone.”

“I refuse to leave you alone, I would quite literally glue myself to you before I leave you alone.”

“Fine, get the glue, bro.”

“Did you just call me bro while we’re literally in bed together?”

“Yeah, man, how’s it feel?” 

“You are so mean to me.”

Alex snorted and kissed his forehead softly. “I love you.”

Michael smiled and burrowed in a little closer. “I love you too.”

Truth be told, the best discovery that came with losing his hair was how comforting it was to just huddle up to Alex like a cat all times and using the excuse of being cold. He did it even when he wasn’t cold. He did it even when his hair grew back. He did it even when their new experiments gave him completely new side effects

If that ever annoyed Alex, well, he never said anything. So Michael just never stopped.

[jay-and-dean]

Rescue You  Chapter 12 : December 5

Dean x reader

Summary : My name is Y/n. I’m the outcast of my witch community. This is the story of how I rescued Dean Winchester, the story of how he saved me.

Serie Warnings : Swearing. Injuries. Smut. Fluff. Angst.

Chapter warning : Smut, fluff, violence, swearing, death ?

Words : 3 k

Author note : There will be 14 chapters, the schedule of the editing is added in the Masterlist. If everything goes as planned, I will stick to that schedule.

***Rescue You Masterlist***

***Want to read more ? => MASTERLIST***

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December 5, 10am

             My fingers find this place I love so much, on his stomach, where his skin forms straight folds around his bellybutton when he’s sitting. It’s so soft there. I dig my index in his lower stomach, making him contract his abs, then do it again.

“What are you doing ?” he asks, his hand still in my hair.

I don’t answer and put a kiss just above his navel, my head still resting here. I smile when I find a freckle I didn’t know yet and blow on the blond peach fuzz.

           This moment could be perfect. It could, if there wasn’t horrors in my head. Screams and burning skin smell, guilt and fear. If I wasn’t craving for him, locked with the man I love and desire, unable to make love.

           Dean’s phone rings and I feel the muscles of his body move under me when he stretches his arm to reach it.

“Yeah Sammy ?”

“Hi Dean, how is Y/n ?” I hear his brother answer because of the silence around.

“Smart, beautiful, half naked” Dean answers, making Sam and me chuckle.

“Yeah… right” Sammy says with an audible smile. “I need some of her blood and she has to whisper an incantation, after that, the spell is ready.”

I move and put my chin on Dean’s chest to see him. He raises an eyebrow at me and I nod.

“Okay” my boyfriend says.

“Great, Rowena and I will come to the cabin to get the blood and teach her the incantation, do you need something ?”

“Chocolate” I murmur.

“Yeah, chocolate, pie and beer” Dean orders, pushing a strand of my hair out of my face.

“Of course… Just, try to wear clothes when we show up.”

He hangs up and puts the phone down, then wiggles to lay more, going down on the bed. My chin finds itself close to his tattoo.

“Hi there” he whispers.

“Hi baby” I say, gently moving my head so my lips caress his chest.

“How is it right now ?” he asks.

“Deafening” I sigh. “The voices are telling me that if I eat your heart with an incantation, I could get your physical strength…”

We promised to tell each other everything, so I do. He grimaces.

“Well tell them my heart must be rubbery” he answers, trying to joke as usual.

I crawl a little higher and catch his lips, trying to enjoy him without arousing him. But, as usual, he can’t help but grab my butt through my panties and the covers. He hums and deepens the kiss, one hand grabbing my neck.

           The effect is instantaneous : his breath fasten and his hips jerk up. His nails digging on my ass cheek, he holds back a groan that fades in his throat.

“Dean…” I break the kiss. “We can’t…”

He lets go of me and sighs.

“I know, I’m sorry. You just…” his thumb strokes my lower lip. “You have an effect on me.”

His erection pokes my thigh and I feel slick wet my folds. I want him so bad. He lets his head fall on the pillow and look at the ceiling, his index and thumb playing with a strand of my messy hair.

           I look at his Adam’s apple and at the scruff on his jaw. My nipples harden under the oversized t-shirt he gave me.

“Baby ?” I call with a little smile.

He looks down at me and frowns at my impish look.

           I get up suddenly and he grunts. From where I am, I can see the tent on the cover. I can touch him, I have proven that this is possible ; but my love can’t keep his hands off of me, and that’s a problem, because obviously pleasure makes my guard go down…

           Searching the cabin, I bite my lip.

“What are you doing ?” he asks and I find what I was looking for.

“Close your eyes baby” I say before I turn to him.

“Why ?”

“Dean, close your eyes. You trust me ?” I insist.

“Well I think if you had wanted to kill me, you would have done it a long time ago” he chuckles. “Eyes closed Y/n.”

           I take the ropes and walk back to the bed, straddling him cautiously not to touch his crotch, I coil the rope against the wooden bars of the bed.

“Mh… I don’t think it’s a good idea Y/n” he says, his eyes still closed, probably thinking I have plans to ride him.

“Don’t open your eyes, give me your hands” I say, admiring him.

He doesn’t say anything else, giving me his beautiful hands, I kiss them both and put them above his head. When he feels the ropes against his wrists, his eyes open wide, and his pupils dilate.

“Hey kinky baby, what are you doing ? You know we are in sex probation…”

“Yeah but the real problem is, you can’t resist me” I grin, tightening the ropes so much he hisses.

“Guilty.”

I bend to kiss him, and realize this is a bad idea… What if I had a crisis, he would be tied up and defenseless. What if I forgot and, too turn on, I wanted more ?

You will hurt him.

           I shake those ideas out of my brain by bending to kiss his jaw, his collarbones, his tattoo.

“Y/n…” he moans, his hips jerking up again.

“Relax Dean” I smile to hide my doubts.

           When I reach his sweatpants, I kiss him just above the belt and hear the bed crack, he’s already fighting against the ropes. The idea of my wolf trusting me with his precious body arouses me, and by the time I kiss his length through the fabric, opening my mouth wide to take him gently between my teeth, my panties are ruined.

“Don’t tease me baby… I really can’t take it right now” he pants, making me smile.

I take his pants off slowly, discovering he is not wearing underwear.

           His cock springs free and I immediately grab it to put open-mouth kisses from the base to the top.

“Oh F-fffuck…” he gasps, his beautiful face disappearing between his elbows.

           I won’t lose time, or it will be impossible for me to resist. Making him come hard and fast is the goal.

           I lick my lips to wet them and let my tongue sloppily soak the head of his cock. When I take him in my mouth, I realize he’s way too big for me to go very deep.

Eat him entirely.

I swallow around him but saliva drips on his balls anyway, starting to move my head up and down, I scratch his stomach.

“Y/n…” he moans, his voice an inch higher than usual, and he tugs hard at the rope. “Y/n… Fuck !”

           My hips roll, searching for friction but I focus to stop them. One of my hand holds him, stroking what my mouth can’t reach, the other goes down to his balls.

“Rah !” he cries out. “Baby… You… Damn !”

           My love is a man that says a lot with his touches, but unable to use his hands, he becomes loud, like he was trying to caress me with his words. I love that a little too much. The wooden bed is cracking, ropes barely able to hold back my wolf.

           He is beautiful, his chest reddening, his strong arms fighting against the ropes with visible strength, his hips resisting the urge to thrust up and his thighs contracting. He tries to look at me but his head falls back between his elbows, his back arching a little.

           I want to give him more so I push down, and a sharp pain hits my throat, but I manage to suppress my gag reflex. I did that only once, with Aiden, but he’s not that big.

“Son of a bitch !” Dean gasps, apparently surprised, and it encourages me.

Going even lower, I take him almost completely before choking a little. Letting go, I take a deep inhale and lick his cock, before starting to suck again, moaning around him.

“Baby…” he pants. “Baby, I’m…”

           Closing my eyes, I sink again, opening my throat to him and, suddenly, a loud cracking noise shakes the room. His hands, still tied up together, grab my hair and my eyes roll when he hits deeper than anything ever did. Tears falls off the corner of my eyes and his cock throbs hard.

           He tugs at my hair slightly, like he was trying to make me let go but I only go up until his head is still on my mouth, swallowing hard. In a shaking gasp, he comes. Ropes of hot salty cum fill my mouth in twitches of his cock and low growls in his chest.

 December 5, 2:27pm

             Sam’s right eyebrow raises when he enters, his glare immediately noticing the broken bars of the bed and the ropes next to it. He shakes his head like he wanted to chase an image off of it, and puts the bags on the table, but his eyes fall on Dean’s bruised wrists and he clears his throat.

           We did manage to let things there, not triggering a powers-crisis, but I had to wipe in the bathroom, completely soaked and shaking. Keeping my fingers away from my clit when I changed panties was a struggle, but the voices were still raging, so I had to fight. And Dean had so many love words he drowned the anger storm in it.

“If you forgot pie…” my boyfriend starts but his brother cuts him.

“I didn’t.”

“Where is Rowena ?” I ask, emptying the bags to give Dean the pie and find the chocolate.

“Yeah… She…” Sam hesitates and I look at him. “She didn’t come. She’s… kinda afraid of you, I mean, of this powers.”

I sigh and sit, putting my head in my hands.

“She’s right” I whisper but feel my lover’s hand on my back.

“She’s not. You’re the person I trust the most, screw her” Dean grunts.

“We don’t need her anyway” Sam states, clearing his throat again at his brother’s word. “She gave me everything. Y/n, we just need anyone of your Community, Coven or not, and you will be free.

“Yeah… But who” I think out loud, taking the piece of pie Dean gives me.

“That’s the problem, this community has always been really good at hiding” Sam sighs. “According to my sources, other hunters have killed some of the running witches, I’m not sure there is a lot left in the area…”

Dean takes a big bite of pie and hums, like he wasn’t worried at all, even if I know his brain is going a thousand miles.

           Sam’s phone rings and he frowns before answering.

“Aiden” he says to us and Dean puts is fork. “Yes Aiden ? … What ! … Okay, go hide in the dungeon and don’t make a sound… I’m on my way.”

“What is it” my boyfriend asks, getting up.

“Witches found the bunker, Aiden hid but he says they’re searching everywhere” Sam answers, taking his car keys in his hands.

“We come with you” Dean states, leaving everything on the table.

Sam opens his mouth to say something but Dean cuts him.

“Witches, Sam, if we can get one, we can fix Y/n.”

 December 5, 10pm

             Sam turns off the car lights and parks outside of the garage. The second the car is still, Dean jumps out of it and opens the trunk.

“Witch killing bullet, Y/n, don’t be afraid to use it” he states sternly, giving me a heavy gun and silently showing me how to use it. “The bitches don’t have powers anymore, but don’t let them get close to you.”

“They might have left” Sam frowns. “Seeing we were not here.”

“I don’t think so, I say they’ll be prepared and wait for us, be careful” my boyfriend puts a light kiss on my temple and his back straightens.

He’s in hunter position, and he’s beautiful. Sam gives me the little piece of paper where he wrote the words for the incantation. He made me repeat it a few times in the car, so I learned it by heart, but I take it anyway.

“Remember, I prepared the spell, mixed all the ingredients already, I put it in an empty bottle of whiskey to hide it, you remember where ?” Sam says and I nod. “Only your blood is missing.”

I take a deep breath and remember what he explained in the car.

“At least they aren’t aware we know they’re here…” I state in a sigh, looking at Dean to give me courage.

           Aiden never called back, and Sam didn’t call him, to avoid making his phone ring. He must be dead now, no way they didn’t find him ; I just wish I had a chance to say goodbye.

             Dean pushes the front door open slowly. Everything is quiet. He silently points the right and Sam nods, going down the stairs stealthily. Once in the library, Sam points the bottle to me, and Dean grabs my hand to keep me close to him. He looks like an action movie hero, his gun in his hand, his footsteps mortally quiet, his whole body on alert.

           Suddenly, a shotgun sound echoes and I jump, clinging to Dean in reflex. Sam comes running and I lift my gun in shaking hands.

“Dean” Sam calls and a bullet blows up something behind him.

           My love grunts and I turn to him, blood is soaking his jeans.

“Oh my God baby !” I can’t help but gasp.

He pushes his jacket in a growl and discovers a bullet wound on his lower stomach.

“No no no no no… baby…” I whine trying to touch him but he stops me, hushing me.

“Y/n !” a voice calls me and I lift my eyes.

           I can’t believe it, it’s Ophelia, the woman who hurt Dean in the first place. She is just there, pointing a gun at Dean. The rage inside me is making me dizzy, but I can’t let it blow, because I’m not sure I wouldn’t hurt my love.

“Step back from him” she orders.

“No way” Dean groans but I move back anyway.

“Ophelia… I’m the one you want” I try but she laughs.

“I want him dead as much as I want you dead. Killing you is impossible for now, but I can kill him. Give me those powers, and I will just go.”

“Yes” I say, lifting my hands in surrender. “But only if Sam and Dean are safe.”

“Whatever” she shrugs. “They won’t be a threat anymore anyway.”

           Ophelia was never the sharpest tool in the box, and I’m pretty sure she’s not alone in this. Walking to the bottle, I stay on my guard. I walk pass Sam ; he’s saying nothing and not moving, probably seeing an opportunity there. Dean falls on one knee and my heart breaks. Not again, not him.

Be strong my wolf, I will heal you…

“You” a familiar voice says to Sam. “Move next to your brother.”

My sister. I stare at her with my broken heart in my eyes and my mother joins her. Both pointing their guns at the brothers, they don’t say a word, and barely look at me.

“I shouldn’t have left you live” I groan, my blood boiling.

“I just want my daughter back” my mom whines and a tear of hate falls on my cheek.

           The power is raging, I have to hurry or this place, my lover’s home, will burn to aches. I take the bottle of whiskey and open it, putting the gun down next to me I grab the little knife Dean made me hide in my belt, an cut my arm, cautiously pouring my blood in the bottle.

           Everyone is looking at me. I empty the bottle at my feet, making sure I’m in the middle of it. The liquid turns to black sand.

           Ophelia doesn’t know the last step is commanding her name like when I took the powers, I will use her ignorance to fool her, and only say it once she freed my wolf. The bitch is dead.

           My hair starts to float in the air again and the voices yell. I clear my throat and whisper the incantation. The powers fight back and the voices are like a million people calling me. Every inch of my body hurts again. The lights flicker and my skin starts glowing like lava again. Pain is killing me.

But suddenly… It stops. My hair fall back on my shoulders lazily, the burning fades, the voices die and the pain vanishes. The sand takes fire and disappears.

“And ?” Ophelia calls. “Is that it ?”

“Yes” I nod.

“I don’t feel anything” she groans.

“Oh believe me you will, idiot ! Why do you think I wanted to get rid of it ?” I smile exaggeratedly. “At first it is okay, but the pain is unbearable after the third day” I bluff.

“Kill him” she says with a smile and my heart stops.

           Before I can move my eyes toward him, my mother pushes the trigger and Dean falls back, a bullet in his chest. I can’t scream, my heart in the back of my throat.

Aiden appears behind him, alive, walking freely.

“Y/n…” he tries to look sorry. “You don’t have your powers anymore, you are free…”

Him.

I am sure now, how could I not see it coming… He is the one that let the witches enter. He wants me back so bad. He used them to get me inoffensive again, promising them the powers, at the condition Dean dies…

           I look down at the man I love struggling to breathe, but no rage, no storm can be unleashed to save him now, my powers are already too far gone, I feel them in the air.

Dean coughs and I pant in panic.

Sam holds Dean. I take my gun back in my hand.

           I a split second, I see everything : Ophelia trying to make the gun move with her hand, the surprise on her face when she can’t, the pained look on my wolf’s face.

I point my gun at Aiden, my finger on the trigger.

“Aiden Powell” I state and a blinding light hits him violently, making him stumble.

Boom.

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[junkyardlynx]

As the wind stroked his boyish face, Gran found himself smiling softly. Not one of previously unrealized joy, nor the fragile countenance of someone on the edge of sorrow. No, it was a smile of resignation. Not over anything huge, really, but more a persistent fact of his strange life.

He would always be underestimated.

The breeze’s affection turned fickle and slipped away, leaving only stillness and birdsong to fill the tree he was perched in. The light armor he wore fit him well - a black ensemble, decorated with geometrical splashes of red and trimmed in gold. The plates were near-weightless, but they were tough enough to take all manner of punishment; the master artisan six islands back claimed the whole set was forged from adamantite. The matching gauntlets fit him like a second skin, responsive and pliable and even as he leaned forward on the spindly branch, the greaves gave not a creak or a groan.

By all accounts, the armor was fit for a majestic king, or perhaps a revered general. Not a boy who barely looked sixteen summers. So, who then? One would be forgiven if they mistook him for a prince, or perhaps an up-and-coming knight-commander. His features were handsome, if boyish, and people always told him that he had a “very dashing” air to him. As if that actually meant anything.

No, Gran was none of those things. By birth, he was a nobody from the edge of the known sky, left with his friend that was definitely not a lizard. By trade, he was a skyfarer captain. By destiny, one who shared his life with the Girl in Blue. And by effort? Well, that was the one he was most happy to share. Not that anyone ever believed him at first. 

By effort, he could be summed up in four words. 

Conqueror of the Eternals. 

A boy of sixteen, now going on twenty-two, was the one who bested all ten Eternals in single combat? Even to himself, it sounded like a nice story and nothing more. Even though he lived every moment of it. The more spectacular details, like the defeat of the Erste Empire and his rejection of the True King’s offer were public knowledge. Though, well, it was true that they tended to draw his likeness a bit taller, and his face a bit more rugged. Artists paint what they feel, even if they don’t know it, even if they try and hide it. The bias creeps in. Surely whoever performed these fantastic deeds couldn’t be a sixteen year old kid. It was probably a part of the tale added later to spice it up and make it marketable for local papers.

Well, they were sort of right. When he rejected the “True King” and his poisoned wish, Gran was just about to turn twenty-two. Four months later, he now found himself intervening in a messy war between two kingdoms with his friend and crewmate Altair.

Six years. Six years had passed. Six years that showed nowhere on his face, his countenance. Nowhere save his eyes. 

It started six years ago. He’d died protecting a terrified girl. A girl he didn’t even know. Even now, if Gran was left to his own devices, he could taste that choking pain -- not the way his lungs seared from the hydra’s flame, nor the gash in his side from the hydra’s claws. No, it was the pain of being powerless. The pain of not being able to reach his hand up to the sky and ask his father in hated grief if he was proud. Proud that unlike his old man, Gran didn’t abandon a child in their time of need.

So when that girl in blue did something impossible, he made two little promises inside of his weak heart. 

One, never let anyone hurt her again.

Two, never feel that way again. 

Six years and four months showed only in the tone of his muscles and the strength of his gait. The softness of his steps, the way he would round a corner like a prowling lion due to the endless combat he found himself engaged in. How long was it until he figured out the peculiarities of his resurrected body? His hair and nails grew, he still had to eat and sleep and still smelled awful when covered in silverslime after a successful hunt. Open wounds bled and illness forced him to bed. 

But he didn’t age. 

He probably realized it after teasing Rackam about his patchwork scruff one day. Rackam had lost his razor and was pilfering through the kitchen for a spare, muttering about the “damn gremlins” who “sneak aboard even though people are on watch duty.” 

The exchange wasn’t noteworthy, really. Rackam had laughed and jabbed his index finger into the captain’s cheek, wondering when his peach fuzz would finally pack its bags and leave for more hairy locales. 

Rackam’s voice echoed in his head. 

“C’mon cap, aren’t you eighteen now? You gotta have more than this in ya!” 

---

Weird how such a statement could open a can of worms. Last he checked, he wasn’t in the worm business, either. Well, unless Altair’s little solo mission for me involves worms somehow. 

Gran hadn’t honestly asked for details since Altair didn’t seem to think they were important. The gist of his part in the greater plan amounted to “stop the western advance.” Simple and concise, really. The field he was scouting below the tree was still and peaceful, seemingly unaware of both the passage of time and the rumblings of war. The breeze kicked up again, carving gentle waves through the grass, and memory pulled him back under.

---

After that, it was impossible for Gran not to notice everything strange thing going on with his body. Despite nearing the age of nineteen, not a single hair managed to grace his face. Meanwhile, he could still tan (and burn) under the blazing sun and if he chose, he could grow the hair on his head as long as he liked. As an experiment, he’d left one toenail to grow as long as it could, just to see what happened. Other than a supremely stubbed toe one early morning followed by a string of swears angry enough to make Eugen blush, nothing came of his experiment.

If was as if nobody has given his body the blueprints for life after sixteen, as if the existence of “Gran as a person” was tied to his current general appearance, as if something altogether removed from natural biology had decided that “this” was Gran. Whatever was supposed to come after simply...didn’t. Naturally, Gran lost his mind a bit. Only a bit, though. He had the good sense to seek out the  famous alchemist and self-proclaimed cutest girl in the world, Cagliostro. She’d joined the crew a while ago and had a keen intellect when it came to matters of the body and it’s intricate workings. After all, she’d made one for herself, probably countless times. Her verdict?

She was stumped. 

Apparently, senescence - the process of cells deteriorating after copying themselves over long amounts of time, leading to aging - had stopped in Gran. Sort of. The truth was much stranger. She’d been having him report to her little workshop on the Grancypher twice a week, taking blood and tissue samples much to his immediate and mildly painful dismay. This process continued on for three months before her exasperation and wonder lead her to discuss her findings with “cute, baffling little Gran.”

“Basically, captain! You’re aging just right for the first eight samples. The only way to tell is to be able to “find” the itty bitty little bit of info that goes missing from the blueprint of “you” every time your cells divide. I imagine the Astrals put it in as a sort of safety fe-errrrr, moving on! So! Being the inimitable genius I am, I noticed something about the ninth set of samples. They’re alllllmost the same as the first. Way too close. You don’t just get that bit back for no reason, and you really don’t get THAT much back for any reason.”

Gran nodded slowly, already onto what she was talking about. However, knowing that Cagilostro loved a.) having a captive audience and b.) herself, he let her continue.

“I didn’t say anything because I wasn’t sure, and positing a hypothesis that early on when I might have just mixed up the samples would be irresponsible. So I waited until that Saturday when I got to stab and slice you again, triple-checking that alllll the samples were out of my workshop. Same result! They looked just like the second sample, even fresh farm-to-table.”

She turned an adorably calculated and seemingly malicious smile to Gran as her explanation ended. Though it wasn’t exactly news, her words were still unnerving. After all, his cells were basically rolling back the clock of aging every four weeks. You know, normal things.

“You know how much I’d give to figure out your secret? Even ignoring the fact that it certainly has to do with whatever Lyria did to you three years ago, this is a discovery so amazing you’d think I’d invented it. Your body is pretty much just removed from time! It’s almost envious enough to make me cry. I can’t believe you, making a genius cry. It’s honestly ridiculous. You can obviously still put on muscle mass and your brain isn’t fried like one of those Golden Friday SHRIMP.”

For a bit there after that, Gran lost a...well, a bit more of his mind. If he had to be honest. Three days locked up in his room, not letting anyone in, not even Vyrn. He poured over alchemical texts, medical documents, arcane and state secrets, anything the Grandcypher had that might be pertinent. After three days of intense study, stopping only for the necessities of life, Gran came to an answer. Well, his answer. 

Did it matter?

Had his sword arm stayed the same over those three years? No. Was his cut not deadlier, his stab not sharper, his fist not faster? Had his body not taken on the tone and muscle of someone who fought primals -- and prevailed? The difference between the weak Gran of three years ago and the Gran of today was immeasurable. The young man who had once fallen to a single tortured hydra now found himself battling ancient primal beasts of war and guile on a monthly basis.

He may not ever have a thick Draph-sized mustache and his cheeks might permanently retain their tender charm no matter his age, but his body was fit to fight. To protect. To chase his absent father until the end of the sky. That’s what mattered. Though he was quite sure Cagilostro would tease him endlessly for his answer.

With newfound determination, Gran threw himself into what the rest of the crew considered hellish training simply because he knew he could endure it. It was a way to prove himself - even after death, even after abandonment, he was worth something. He had value and merit and talent, but also the drive and yearning to turn it into something. In the wake of this new regiment for himself and his little visit to a certain alchemist on board, rumors crept up. Slow and steady at first, they soon burned like wildfire through the decks of the Grandcypher, spreading out of context and control. He finally became privy to a good chunk of the downright goofy rumors via his afternoon footwork training on the vast open deck. 

His footwork training was simple. He would empty his mind and fill it with visions of attackers, then repel those attackers as they came at him from all sides and angles. Though it didn’t hold up to real battles, it offered a sort of vision training and group combat scenario that duels never quite could and best of all, it could be performed anywhere with ample space as the only thing required was himself.

Being simple in those relative terms, it provides opportunities for a capable multitasker to easvesdrop things they shouldn’t, like the hottest Grandcypher gossip. On one such afternoon, in the early days of summer, things came to a head as crewmates found themselves unable to contain the rumor mill around their captain any longer.

“I heard the captain’s immortal!” 

Not entirely inaccurate. His nonexistent blade swung a tight arc, lopping off the head of something never there. With his arm extended, he challenged the thin atmosphere between the islands. Nothing came.

“Yeah, I heard he was like a six thousand year old primal beast?” 

Missed the mark a bit there, he quipped internally. It seemed both directed at the conversation and himself as he danced between the attacks of no ones and nothings. His sweeping kick, though near-flawless in form, barely grazed the torso of his last imagined attacker in that scenario. With a click of his tongue, he noted to himself that an actual attacker couldn’t simply stop on a dime like the one he imagined did. Even in his mind, he was tough on himself, as no one else seemed to want the responsibility. With a little consternation, he ended up giving himself the point for his made up little game. The points didn’t matter, but they made him feel better.

“We have a few of those in the crew, so it makes sense.” 

It would, but that’s not the case. Gran’s feet shuffled to and fro, dancing softly across the wooden deck of the Grancypher. To the casual observer, it almost appeared as if he was simply rehearsing one of the dances Anthuria had choreographed with him. He ducked under an imaginary bullet, fist rising from below to smash the jaw of the illusory gunman.

The nothings and nobodies fell to his invisible sword strikes, his matchless kicks and punches, to the spells he snap-conjured between the thrust of a lance and the flight of an arrow. Finally, panting hard with exhilaration and the flow of combat, Gran slew the final “attacker” with a quick reversal and stab to the gut, ending the dream with its own weapon. Nothing and no one fell, other than comfortable silence, but he still felt a measure of success as he picked up the warmed vacuum flask that had his lunch in it.

“No, no, he’s only thirty-six and he’s the son of that one legendary adventurer. It’s his hero’s blood. I hear his dad bathed in the entrails of the primal beast he slew, though, so maybe that’s what caused it in the end?” Why would a hero be forced to stop aging before he could legally drink?  The snort of his barely contained laughter sent soup up his nose, straight from his vacuum flask. Hot soup. Hot, spicy soup. 

“That makes a lot of sense.” 

More than the six thousand year old primal beast bit, yes.

“He’s still our captain, so who cares? That’s good enough for me.” Oh. Ah. I...

That last overheard comment had humbled him, but the clear ring of all the affirmations that followed from crewmates in it’s wake shook him to his core. Somehow, he’d gained the loyalty and friendship of some of the most accepting people under the great blue sky. His training, already considered to be a form of self-punishment by the rest of the crew, grew in scope and desire. If there was a mountain in his way, he would cut it. If there was a river in his way, he would part it. If even the great ocean of stars spanned the distance, it would be crossed. 

For all the things he could still protect. 

For the dreams he had thought beyond him.

For the sake of surpassing the absent father that had abandoned him long ago, leaving only a note.

When still a boy in a backwater nothing, Gran wielded a simple short sword and fancied himself a sort of knight as he grew up. Wearing a slightly ragged blue tunic with a hood, a few pieces of spare platemail strapped to his right arm, and holding a sword containing more rust than blade. Training with Vyrn in the forest every day, the boy dreamed of something bigger.  A fighter, a protector, a guardian of what he loved and treasured, not a bandit that cut and run from his family. That’s what he wanted to be... That dream was, for lack of a better term, driven from his chest. By a hydra. Just so we’re clear. 

He abandoned defensive posture after that, seeking to end fights as quickly as possible. An axe found it’s way into his hands and for a time, he was satisfied by the devastation it wrought. Teenage postmortem angst seemed to be quelled by a felling cleave to an enemy’s collarbone, and chunky plate scraps held together with red leather and white fur served him well enough as protection from the elements and the enemies he faced. 

Nothing so simple satisfied for long, though. Gran took to himself in a sort of hermitage for a while, studying magic under the occasional tutelage of his talented crewmates. There was a certain ripple of insecurity in his scouting party’s mood when he’d shown up late one day, his usual armor stripped down to basic protection and his axe nowhere to be found. They tossed light jeers at his green cloak and the staff he carried, even as they set off for their destination - a bandit camp they had been hired to uproot. Peace talks were attempted by the bandit’s leader and an Erune comrade of Gran’s, one better suited for diplomacy than the boy-faced captain.

Things deteriorated quickly. Gran had quietly stepped forward once the leader made it clear he had no intention of retreating peacefully. With the green hood still covering half his disappointed face, Gran slashed the tip of the staff in a dismissive motion to the right, as if telling them their time here was over. Before they could protest or retaliate, wild magic burst into life around them, sealing off all escape and action. Concentric rings of frost and fire cradled in the stony embrace of the earth, carved into being with the fierce wind tore at everything inside the bandit’s camp. With the oxygen burnt out, the earth lashed and the encampment in shambles, the dazed and injured bandits were easy prisoners. 

No one jeered after that. 

As his prowess grew and the crew took on more work, that cloak had weathered with time. It faded to an almost dull grey, and with this Gran had added a black half-mask to the ensemble. Admittedly, it was mostly to hide his youthful features and force enemies to take him somewhat seriously for once, as the sting of his blessed curse grew more apparent as he approached his twentieth year.

For combat, a middle ground was found. He embraced not pure swordsmanship, nor did he place his trust only in magic. Instead, he channeled his power into debilitating his opponent’s often unworldly vigor and vitality, then coaxed those weaknesses open with his unmatched swordplay. Victory after victory piled up at the crew’s feet, and the legend of the “boy captain” grew.

It also provided the fodder for what Gran considered a highly embarrassing piece of “art.” Somebody had caught him resting his right hand on his jaw, leg crossed over the other almost lazily as he read a scrap of paper in his left. It was a failed betting ticket, so close to winning millions of rupees, save for the upset victory in the sixth match. An enterprising somebody, who’s name begins with L and ends with -unalu, had committed this terrible and dreadful sight to memory. She then committed that memory to paper with her talent. 

Only, well. 

She’d used her license of artistic interpretation to replace the slip of paper held in contempt with a comically oversized sword. Stabbed unceremoniously in the ground. The barstool? That was now a throne carved of stone. The title of the piece, an unknowing and fortunate soul might ask? 

“Chaos Ruler.” 

The print she made was reproduced and sold to more than a handful of people on and off the Grandcypher. Copies of it hung from stray support beams and walls on the ship, as if to lovingly taunt him and people switched their mode of address from “captain” to things like “my liege” or “ruler” or “chaos kid” for the better part of a month. Gran said nothing, choosing to keep what little of his dignity he felt he had left.

Nobody saw Gran wear that outfit again. 

In hindsight, he had to agree that the metal half-mask was a little much. But, ah, Ejaeli and Predator had convinced him it was cool. They made masks look cool, after all. The palpable disappointment from them almost made him walk back on that decision. Almost. 

From then on, he’d taken to wearing a simple outfit when on duty, reminiscent of his teenage years. Having turned twenty some time ago, he decided to make a simple blue hooded tunic the mainstay of his combat attire. On top went a basic but functional steel breastplate, covering his heart and ribs. His arms were covered in gauntlets of the same make, and steel greaves offered his feet and shins ample protection as they went on over a pair of loose beige pants. What it lacked in flair it made up for in comfort and capability. A sensible choice. It gave nothing about his combat style away either, other than the obvious caveat that he might engage in it at some point.

---

Funny to say teenage years, he supposed, looking down at the peaceful field. Fires were beginning to rise and march in the distance, headed this way. An army. For now, though, he had time, and the world seemed to move so perilously slow. Memory reeled him in once more, as if the grass and the trees of this island made him long for another time and another place.

---

Thinking seriously on it, the reason his legend had spread as that of the “boy captain” probably had to do with two things. One, the Grandcypher traveled an awful lot between three different skydoms, and two? The crew of the Grandcypher loved events. 

It probably had to do with a third thing, too. 

His crew really, really loved to tease him about his age. 

Every birthday, it’d be “Happy sixteenth, Cap!” They reused the same banner six times now, adding a tally mark just above “sixteenth” every single time. It was as endearing as it was maddening. Eugen and Rackam pulled the same thing at every new bar, ordering three beers and then pretending to flip out at Gran when he took his. It caused its fair share of problems for Gran, so sometimes Gran would flip the script before they got the chance and get angry at his “dad” and “brother” for getting drunk while “mom” was at home alone. 

Some of the Grandcypher ladies would tease him with lines about “when he was older” and what an “earnest young man he was” if they saw him during the more romantic holidays, much to his chagrin. He learned to reverse that too, going on the offensive by playing the straight man to their act. He paid them straightforward compliments with toothy grins and presented them with chocolates during White Day as a form of playful revenge. 

A few times every year, the crew would be called to an ancient island where a sort of...war game took place between skyfaring crews. An Astral experiment run amok meant that otherworldly and ferocious beasts overwhelmed the singular island now and then, and their presence courted the attention of primal beasts. As the people of the skydoms always sought to turn misery into growth, they established a way to turn it into a competition. Extremely rare treasure was brought in from all across the skyrealms and the monster problem on the island was handily taken care of in what they called Guild Wars. 

Ten times, the Grancypher emerged victorious. Each time, for his troubles, the Captain would receive an ancient weapon of unparalleled power, power that courted disaster - and inevitably the attention of those that would protect the sky from unparalleled threats. 

The Eternals.

Ten times over the years, Gran wore his convictions on his sleeve and fought the strongest people in the sky, all to prove that he would remain himself in the face of that dread power. In truth, Gran didn’t plan to use those relics of war. He simply reveled in the chance to face those brilliant, blazing souls in single combat. 

It was a way to prove himself. Both to those who he had grown to admire after hearing their legends, and to his eternally absent father. Surely, even his father would have to notice if he conquered the ten strongest people in the sky--

He didn’t, but it didn’t matter. 

In the end, the people he met and bonded with mattered.

After an incident involving the mafia bearing down on Stardust Town, the Eternals got together and presented Gran with a suit of armor and his own cloak, signifying his status as the eleventh Eternal, an irreplaceable part of their group. While Siete was still the de-facto leader and Uno was the first of the Eternals, Gran - given the new title of Jedenáct - was the end-all-be-all when it came to pure combat strength. As they had joined the Grancypher’s crew, they wanted him to join the crew of the Eternals and share in that camaraderie. 

He might have felt sixteen behind those misty eyes when they draped the white jacket over his shoulders and popped the celebratory drinks open, but he’d never admit it. Openly. Nio knew, because of course she did. His heart’s plaintive melody was clear to her ear from the moment they’d met. He’d been seeking a place to belong, a place that respected him since the day he understood that his father had abandoned him. Between the Grancypher and the Eternals, he’d finally felt like part of a family. 

A family more real than the blood that spawned and abandoned him, all the while burdening him with purpose. 

This is where I belong.

---

Of course, it was just after this heartfelt moment that Altair had been roped into this awful and brutal war. As a member of the Grancypher family, Altair’s problems were Gran’s problems. And now, that advancing army was coming into ambush distance. Concentrating his mana for a second, Gran summoned forth an ethereal bow, shaped like the one Song used but made of pure, blue light. Standing up on the branch of the tree, he took aim at the ground some twenty metres in front of the enemy general’s advance. Luhua was said to be a fearsome combatant, and Gran secretly hoped for a chance to resolve things with a non-fatal, honorable, one-on-one duel. The best kind of fight. 

Of course, he would always be underestimated. There was a chance that no such duel would be found, and it might turn into a bloody melee.

Either way?

Time to keep the sky’s sweet peace.

[tomcrush]

SATISFIED — TOM HOLLAND X READER.

Warnings: lil bit of angst, wedding, flashbacks, song.

A/N: This is my very first Tom Holland x reader, so it’s a little bit weird for me, yet I really hope you enjoy it. Well, I’ll have this kind of… dynamic? Most of my one shots??? Will be based on my favorite songs, or any song in general, so… feel free to send some requests!

I was completely drown on my thoughts. It was my younger sister’s wedding. Everyone was celebrating. Why wouldn’t they? Right?

Someone stood up catching everyone’s attention, big smile on his face while his eyes we’re lying on the just married couple.

“Alright, alright!”, he exclaimed. “Everyone, give it up for the maid of honour (Y/N) (Y/L/N)”, everyone clapped as now I stood up, thanking everyone with a smile for being so welcoming.

I took my glass of wine in my hand and now observe my sister and her groom. I forced a smile.

“So… I’m not quite good with words, so I’ll keep it simple”, everyone laugh, I raised my glass looking directly into Tom’s eyes, my sister’s husband. “A toast to the groom!”

“To the groom!”, some of the people echoed my words.

“To the bride”, I continued now looking into my sisters eyes, once again a couple of people echoed what I said. “From your sister, who’s always by your side”, I felt my throat dry. “To your union, and the that you provide, may you will always, be satisfied”.

REWIND. REWIND. REWIND. REWIND.

All the memories came back to me, more specifically that night. I think I just might regret that night for the rest of my days. I can still remember how every single actor was entering the room while a bunch of waiters were distributing glasses of champagne for the guests. Of course most of the male actors that my father invited were tripping over themselves to try to win mine and my sisters praise.

I most admit, the saloon was decorated in such way everything was like a complete dream. Expensive drinks, expensive dresses and tuxedos, stunning faces all around the room and very… very talented people.

All of that suddenly felt unimportant. Damn it, Tom. I never forget the first time I saw your face. Since then I’ve never been the same. Intelligent eyes and a huge presence.

I remember you walked towards me and spoke.

“Hi”, that was all you had to say, suddenly you made me forget my dang name as well as you set my heart aflame. “You strike me as a woman who ya never been satisfied”, you spoke again.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean”, I said while crossing my arms.

“You’re like me, I’m never satisfied”, he declared.

“Is that right?”

“I‘ve never been satisfied”.

“My name is (Y/N) (Y/L/N)”

“Tom Holland”.

“Where’s are you from? I perceive an accent. Is your family here as well?”

“That’s unimportant”.

“How did you met my father?”

“I’m an actor”.

“I see…”

“A good one. Yet, there’s a million things a haven’t done. But just you wait. I better go now, there’s a bunch of people I still want to meet”, he said and shook his hand in goodbye.

I stood right there. Still my glass in my hand, with the exact same chattering in the distance, soft music playing as the background; but a new thought.

«You barely spoke to him, (Y/N). But you know it. This is what it feels like match with someone. But… what the hell is the catch?». It just felt different, I almost could swear I felt a spark.

Absurd. The conversation lasted 2 minutes… maybe 3 minutes. Yet, for the way he moves and speaks I can say he’s a bit of a flirt, but I might give him a chance.

Wait, wait, wait. (Y/N) (Y/L/N), are you sure? When you asked about this family, did you see his answer? His hands started fidgeting and he looked askance. He’s an actor, the only reason why he’s at this party. He, like everyone else in this room, wants to work with your father.

But he’s handsome, a really handsome boy and he knows it. Peach fuzz, he can’t even grow it, of course he can’t, (Y/N); he’s young. But not dumb if he approached you.

My eyes continued following him on the saloon, I really wanted to take him away from this place. At least that was before I knew my sister was now standing by my side looking at him… helpless.

And in that moment everything just felt like a really cold bucket of cold water. I realised 3 truths at the exact same time.

“You better wait here”, that’s all I said to my sister when now I approach him. As soon as was close enough, I held his hand and once again I felt that spark, but didn’t said a thing, I just started walking.

“Where are you taking me?”

“I’m about to change your life”.

“Then, lead the way”.

If your wondering what where those 3 truths here it comes… number one.

I’m a girl which has always though that being successful is way more important than boys, and as my father chose me between my sisters to be my mentor, I may not have any distractions. I was chosen because I’m the oldest, and the wittiest and the gossip, so he said it will all work perfectly. And Tom is the best distraction a girl could get, plus he’s just an actor. Ha! But that doesn’t mean I want him any less.

“Elizabeth (Y/L/N). It’s a pleasure to meet you”, a bright smile on her face.

“(Y/L/N)?”

“My sister”.

Number two.

He was only after me cause I’m a (Y/L/N) sister. He definitely knew who my father was and knew that if he had a chance with me, then he might work with my father. I’m not that naive. I guess that’s the reason why I introduced him go Eliza, that right now it’s his bride.

«Nice going, (Y/N), he was totally right about you, you will never be satisfied».

I’m not sure how much time I was there. It was the three of us. They were speaking and I was just there, standing in silence. Trying not to look at him, failing once in a while.

Number three.

I know my sister like I know my own mind, she’s so trusting and so kind. Definitely one of the most sweetest people I have ever met. Probably everyone’s favoritite (Y/L/N) sister. Believe me when I say that you will never, ever, find someone this trusting or kind.

As Tom leaves, giving each one of us a kiss on the cheek, I want to tell her that I like him, and that I certainly know it will be love. But I know that if I do that, she will silently resigned and so then Tom will be mine; she will lie and say it’s fine, even when it is not. So I chose to stood there in complete silence knowing my sister will get to see him once again. And that’s how I let it go.

“I’m not feeling quite well, tell my father I headed home early. Excuse me”, I leave.

The air is freezing my arms and legs, I should have listen to my mother when she told me to take a coat with me.

I’m waiting for the ballet parking guy to bring my car as I stroke my arms gently to feel a little bit of warm. And it’s right there the first time I fantasise about him and those beautiful chocolate eyes. I romanticise everything could have happened if I didn’t sized him up so quickly. If I didn’t introduce my sister right away.

“It’s freezing right?”, he says brushing his arms against mine, and I close my eyes.

“It is”

“Let me”, he takes his coat and handed it to me. I smile and take it, reaching for his warmth and that intoxicating scent of his cologne.

“Thank you”, I whisper at the same time I realise nothing of that actually happen. That he’s not by my side, that I’m not helping his coat, that his beautiful eyes are not looking at me, and that is going to happen way more times I’d like it to happen.

“Are you there?”, one of my sisters questions, bringing me back from my memories when I just went silent.

And I remember everything I said, the little speech and I force myself to repeat it from the beginning with a brighter smile. I look at my sister and I know that at least my dear Eliza’s his wife. My sight moves to Tom, at least I know that even when he’s with my sister, I’ll keep his eyes in my life.

[carryonsimoncarryonbaz]

Whumptober Day 9

I’m all over the place with this. I’m a day late but that’s better than nothing, right?

Day 9: Shackled

Simon

I’ve got a free afternoon today. Baz is at football practice, so I’ve got the room to myself for a change. I’m lying on my bed, window open, relishing the peace and quiet when a little bird flies in with a summons from the Mage.

He doesn’t do this that often—mainly when he’s got a mission for me. But I just got back from one a few days ago so I’d be surprised if he sends me out again so soon. I’ve already missed half a week of classes.

Penny says it’s irresponsible of the Mage and shows an unforgivable lack of respect for my education.

“But I’m getting an education in real magic when I go, Penny.”

“You can’t do the practicals without having a solid foundation in the theory, Simon!”

Penny has very definite views on magickal education. She regularly sends strongly worded missives to the faculty board regarding the educational practices at Watford. She was livid when the linguistics program was shut down fourth year and nearly went off when the music program ceased being part of the curriculum last year.

“Sung spells are so important, Simon! The technique is completely different than spoken spells—you have to perfect the elocution and the melody, not to mention the tempo.” We’d been in Magic Words class at the time and I’d been trying to levitate my notebook. It kept flinging itself off the edge of my desk instead.

Penny’s eyes had gone distant. “Sung spells are the only ones you can cast with other mages to increase their power. It’s criminal to eliminate the music program.”

“That’s one thing you and I can agree on, Bunce.” Baz had leant across the aisle, his book hovering a foot above his desk, not even wavering when he turned to nod at Penny. Wanker.

“If nothing else, I can count on you to support the value of a well-rounded education, Basil.” Penny had given him a meaningful look.

Baz’s face had lost its harsh angles momentarily, the sneer he typically sports when I’m in the vicinity fading away as his expression softened into something unfamiliar. Thoughtful and fleetingly vulnerable.

It was unexpected and it made my chest tighten. “It was important to my mother.” He’d paused, looking down for an instant before continuing. “She was a master of sung spells. My father . . . My father says he’s never heard anyone who could match her.”

I’d been agitated the rest of the class period. And most of the afternoon. It’s unnerving when Baz acts out of character. It throws me off.

Probably why he does it, the tosser.

Always plotting.

I make my way to the Mage’s office, passing through the wards set at the entrance. They’re set to let me pass freely. He’s at his desk, a large book open in front of him. He closes it and tucks it into a drawer when he catches sight of me.

“You called for me, sir?”

The Mage stands then, coming around his desk, arms clasped behind his back.

He’s taller than me.

I grew three inches this summer but I’m still a bit shorter than he is. I still have to tilt my head up to meet his eyes.

He’s grown a goatee this year and I’m dead jealous, even if Baz keeps making snide Robin Hood references about it.

Not that Baz has anything to brag about. He’s no better than me—not a hint more than peach fuzz on my face and Baz’s skin is even smoother, pale and unblemished, not a whisker in evidence.

“Simon. I called you here for some extra practice.” He sits on the front edge of his desk, one hand against the desk and the other lightly gripping his sword hilt. “I feel I’ve been remiss with some of your training.” His eyebrows come together in a furrow over his forehead. “We’ve not spent adequate time practicing spells you might need to utilise if you are bound or captured. Now that the Goblins are intent on your demise we need to add those to your arsenal.”

“I don’t intend to get captured, sir.”

“Simon.” There’s an edge to his voice when he says my name this time. “We must prepare for every eventuality. It is not an unlikely scenario, and not just as far as Goblins. Who knows what dark creatures might try to ingratiate themselves with the Goblins by apprehending you.”

I hate doing spell practice with the Mage. His mouth always narrows to a thin line and I can see the disappointment in his eyes, hear the frustration in his voice when he barks at me to enunciate clearly and use my words.

So much for my free afternoon. “Yes, sir.”

He walks behind his desk again and opens another drawer. “Come here, Simon. Hold out your hands.”

I put my hands out, fully expecting him to place something in them.

The Mage steps forward and snaps a set of metal shackles around my wrists before I can react. He nods at me as I stare at him in surprise. “Let’s have you try to get out of those.” He holds a hand up as I start spluttering. “Unlocking or releasing spells only, Simon. You have to count on stealth and speed in a situation like this, not brute force. The risk of being discovered or injuring yourself is real.”

Fucking hell. I’m terrible at this sort of thing, thinking up spells on the fly. I’m not even good when I try to do the ones I’ve memorised.

My mind is an utter blank. I can’t think of a single spell to open the shackles on my wrists.

“Come on, now, Simon. I haven’t got all night.”

“I can’t reach my wand.”

“Exactly the circumstance you would find yourself in, if this happened in the field. You can cast without your wand. We’ve worked on that.”

We have. I can do it, sometimes. Mostly when I don’t intend to. It’s unpredictable, like all my magic is.

“Uh . . . the only opening spell I know is ‘open sesame’, sir.”

He gives me a pained look. “Absolutely not in this circumstance.”

I wrack my brain as I give the shackles an experimental tug. The chain stretches to its full length—about an eight inch span—but I can’t budge it beyond that. The links are sturdy.

“Simon.” It’s not just a hint of irritation this time.

Ok. Ok. I can do this.

I cast “lucky break” but there isn’t enough magic in it. I try again but nothing happens.

I go through “free as a bird” and “get out of jail free” to no avail. The shackles glow for an instant with “go scot-free” but nothing happens.

I can see the Mage is getting irritated with me. I tug at the shackles again.

I try to think of spells to enlarge the cuffs but nothing comes to mind.

The Mage has his arms crossed over his chest, brow furrowed, a frown on his face. He looks at his watch.

“Simon, why don’t you keep at it for a while longer. I need to check in with my men. I’ll be back shortly.”

And with that he leaves. Just leaves, with me still trapped in the cuffs.

I can feel my magic coursing under my skin as my agitation increases. I’m angry, I’ll not deny it.

When Miss Possibelf sets us tasks like this she prods us, gives us gentle nudges, hints, feedback on what we could do better. The Mage does that with swordplay, but with the magic he just seems to expect me to figure it out on my own. It doesn’t come as easily as the fighting does though. It’s a struggle. And that just aggravates him. I can tell.

I can’t believe he just left me.

Probably thinks it builds character or some such rot. “Let experience sharpen your blade, Simon.” He says that one far too often.

I sink into the armchair set in front of his desk and run through spells in my head. I’m not like Penny—i don’t have reams of them stored up.

Or like Baz, who’s never at a loss for words, the utter prat.

I mutter a few more spells. Nothing happens. I’m desperate enough to consider Bible verses. I know it’s taboo, but it’s not like I’ve got a lot of options, now do I?

I don’t want to still be struggling when the Mage gets back here.

I can think of a few verses that might work. Some of the care homes had a more religious bent than others. I just went along with it.

I cast a “loose the bonds of wickedness.” Nothing happens and I don’t get struck down for my audacity so I try another. “Break every yoke” makes the shackles glow again, for longer this time, but they don’t open.

I’m sweating now. I can feel my magic thrumming under my skin, heat coursing down my arms. I close my eyes as the red haze starts and I take a few deep breaths, muttering “stay cool” and “cool it now.”

It helps. The haze recedes when I open my eyes. I stare at my wrists, trying to think of something useful.

I’d be right well fucked if this was a real situation.

I’m right well fucked with it as a training exercise.

I yank my hands apart, as if I could break the links. There’s nothing weak about any of them.

Fucking hell! I cast a “weakest link” and pull my hands apart as hard as I can. The middle link snaps clean through.

The shackles are still firm on my wrists but I can at least move my hands independently now.

If I were really held captive this would be enough. I could call the Sword of Mages and use it, cuff notwithstanding.

But I have a feeling that won’t be good enough for the Mage.

I stew on it a bit, shifting around in the seat. I can’t sit still so I get up and start pacing back and forth across the Mage’s office.

Six steps to the bookshelf and six steps back.

Back and forth.

I just want to be free of these stupid shackles. I want to leave. I want to go back to my room.

I look out the window. The sun is slanted lower. Baz will be heading back from football practice soon.

I’d rather deal with him than be here for one more minute.

I just want to be free.

I just want to break free.

Merlin, that’s it!

I can hear the lyrics in my head. Baz may be a complete wanker but he’s a wanker with good taste in music. I’ve heard him play this song often enough on his contraband iPod.

I cast “I want to break free.”

The shackles glow even brighter this time and stay that way, shimmering. I can feel a tingle in my wrists and heat radiating from the cuffs. It doesn’t burn.

But they don’t snap open.

What am I doing wrong?

It comes to me then. It’s a song.

Maybe I have to sing this for it to work.

Fuck. I don’t sing.

I mean, I sing when I’m in the shower but only if Baz isn’t around. He’d take the piss if he heard me, I’m sure of it.

I have to try. I’m out of options and I’m sure the Mage will be back soon. I can’t face disappointing him again.

I hum the tune a few times to prepare myself.

“I want to break free.” It comes out wavery. What did Penny say? Melody, elocution, tempo. Ok. Ok.

And intention. That’s true with every spell though.

I intend for these fucking shackles to come off.

I take a breath and sing the lyric again.

And again, my voice getting stronger with each repetition. The shackles glow with a blue light and spring open, falling to the floor.

I rub my wrists and shake my hands out.

The Mage walks in just as I’m picking the cuffs up off the floor.

His eyebrows go up as he takes in the sight of my cuff-free wrists. “Well done, Simon. Tell me, what spell did you use?”

“‘Weakest link’ to break the chain, sir, and ‘I want to break free’ for the cuffs.”

His expression relaxes and relief floods through me.

“I wanted you to focus on releasing spells to remove or loosen the shackles but ‘weakest link’ is a good one in a pinch. It lets you use your sword, if nothing else.” He puts a hand on my shoulder. “The other one worked as a spoken spell?”

“No, sir, I had to sing it to make it work.”

He looks pleased now and I can’t help but bask in it. “Did you?” His claps my shoulder and gives me a hint of a smile. “Well done indeed.”

I smile back.

I’m so relieved.

[team-science-mega-nerds]

Fictober Prompt #21: “Change is annoyingly difficult” + this song

Fandom: Supergirl

Pairing: Danvarias (Alex x Sam)

Warnings: Arson...?

Sam struggles with the zipper on her uniform like she always does. Half-burnt pancakes at 5:45 were a usual part of her morning routine but today, Ruby is actually ready on time. Sam is thankful that they are able to walk hand in hand to the bus stop without any dragging involved. Ruby waves goodbye, follows it up with a kiss, and today, Ruby doesn’t grumble about being embarrassed by Sam’s uniform. 

Sam decides, as she’s driving to Hank’s, that today will be a good day. She’ll need that because the future holds uncertainty, and while unemployment checks might give her a few weeks of freedom, she needs to start thinking about something permanent. Maybe a job without a uniform or early hours. “Another day, another fucking dollar,” Lucy says as they clock in with Hank who is sitting in his office crunching numbers and figuring out a way to give them another few days before gentrification shuts them down. 

Like most days, the early patrons are seeking nothing more than coffee, a few eggs, and decent conversation. Sam can handle most of the tables with one arm tied behind her back. Winn is in a good mood, which must have to do with the hickey on his neck, but Sam doesn’t make a comment about it. She’ll leave that to Lucy, who is cleaning the countertop and consolidating ketchup bottles. “Uh oh, here comes trouble,” Lucy mutters. Sam turns to see a group of construction workers who are in the middle of building the very place that is going to put Hank’s out of business. 

They’ve come here every day for a morning coffee and each time they get bolder with their leering. “I’ll take it,” The workers had caused enough turmoil that now Lucy and Sam rotate who gets to deal with them. Today it’s Sam’s turn. “Coffee?” She asks as she approaches the booth. 

“Might want something a little more. Something sweet.” Unfortunately, they’d been here so many times that Sam had learned their names. Steven was their obvious leader. He did most of the talking. “You’ll take care of us, won’t you, Sam?” Steven reaches his hand out like he’s going to touch her but Lucy swoops in and tugs Sam away before he can. Lucy brings Sam to the kitchen, where Winn peeks out over the counter. 

“Those guys causing problems?” Winn asks. 

“We’re fine,” Sam assures him trying to avoid a scene at all costs.

“Don’t look now but your secret admirer is here,” Winn says with a grin. “Not that it’s a secret.” Sam spots the woman walk into the diner and taking her usual spot at the counter. She’s wearing the same olive jean jacket that she always wears with her usual dark frayed jeans. The only difference is that she’s wearing a shirt that actually looks clean for a change, like she put in some effort, albeit slight. 

“Oh, shut up,” Sam chastises. 

“I’ll take the assholes, you go take care of your boo.” Sam takes the jokes with pride. It isn’t often that a girl like her gets to spend time with someone she actually likes. And Alex? She’s kind. Painfully quiet at times but as far as regulars go, Sam doesn’t mind being around someone who actually knows how to say thank you. 

Yes, Alex was an enigma. No matter how many times Sam had asked she never got a straight answer about where Alex was from or what she did for a living. All Sam knew was that Alex lived nearby, loved coffee, and had an affinity for pie. It’d been months and still Sam couldn’t figure her out. But that was the thing about this area and these people, lots of passers-through and not very many people who want to be known. “Hey, Peach Fuzz,” Sam teases as she slides behind the counter and pours Alex a cup of coffee.

Alex always greets her with a smile, more so now that Sam has given her a nickname. If Sam is feeling adventurous and it’s later in the day, she’ll sometimes run her fingers across Alex’s buzzcut which always makes Alex laugh. Sam will save that for later, she thinks. “How’s your morning going?”

“Good, you?” Sam glances over at the construction workers briefly, Alex’s eyes follow. 

“Are they bothering you?” Alex turns like she’s about to get up and do something about it, Sam grabs her wrist to hold her in place. 

“It’s fine.” Sam gives Alex a reassuring smile. “Fuck them, I would much rather hear about your day. Or night. Whichever.”

“I’m boring, you know that.”

“I doubt it.” Sam certainly has plenty of reasons to doubt. For one, Alex has showed up to the diner - not once but twice - with a black eye. One time when Sam and Lucy were using their smoke break to take a nap in the back of Lucy’s car, they’d heard Alex yelling on the phone about taking care of things. Out here, on the cusp of the country, most people have guns, but for some reason knowing that Alex carries a gun seems...different. Sam wasn’t certain that she had the guts to ask all the questions she wants to for fear of scaring Alex off.

“Lots of construction up Main,” Alex says. 

“Yeah. A new fancy, six-bucks-a-cup-of-Joe kinda place is moving in. We’re headed the way of the payphone. Obsolete.” 

“Out of business? Really? How soon?” This is the most Alex has ever talked and it comes as a surprise. She looks genuinely disturbed by the news. 

“Two weeks as far as I know.”

“Shit, I love this place.” Alex looks at the construction workers for a long beat. “It’s a shame.”

“Let me get you a slice of pie. We’ve got cherry, just for you,” Sam tells her as she heads toward the kitchen to check-in. Lucy scampers over after her, grabbing her arm and pulling her into the kitchen. Winn looks between them, sweat from the heat of the kitchen covering his brow. Lucy dismisses Sam’s eagerness to leave the kitchen in favor of - at least - an open window. 

“What is going on there?” Lucy asks. She peeks out of the kitchen and watches Alex drink her coffee peacefully. “Goddamn, she is honestly a dreamboat.” Lucy jabs her finger against Sam’s chest. “And you’re just flaunting yourself around there and not getting laid? You’re an embarrassment to waitresses everywhere.”

“And cooks,” Winn chimes in. “Her eyes have been glued to you for three months now. 

“Exactly! Why don’t you just saunter on over there and figure out if she tastes like peaches or not.” Sam rolls her eyes so hard that she has to brace herself against the door. “Come on,” Lucy grabs Sam’s arm and pulls her out of the kitchen and behind the counter. They do a few mindless tasks, all the while Lucy keeps her eyes on Alex. “What’s your shirt say?” Alex looks down at her shirt and smiles. 

“It says ‘No TERFS on my TURF’.” Sam looks at the shirt herself wondering if it’s possible to like someone without really knowing them. 

“Take that jacket off, Sam and I get hit on all day, we deserve some eye candy.” Sometimes Sam loves Lucy. They’d been stuck in this aimless job for so long that she forgets that they aren’t really partners in crime. Right now, Sam is trying her best not to enjoy this. Lucy’s filter had gone out the window years ago and now she was all suggestive comments and playful banter. Sam wishes she had the guts to say some of the things she does. For now, Sam watches. She watches Alex take off her jacket and reveal nice arms that could certainly hold or lift Sam. Perhaps on this very countertop. 

Lucy whistles. 

“You got a permit for those things?” Lucy is on a roll and soon Alex is either going to crumble under their gaze or show that she has a bit of bite. Winn personally delivers a slice of cherry pie to Alex and she gives him a firm handshake and a pat on the back. Alex might not realize it but she’s made a  mark on this tiny little diner. Just when all the attention seems to be on her, Steven waves Sam over, showing that he’s ready to pay his bill.

“Here you are, sweetheart.” Getting smacked on her ass is something that happens once every few weeks. But not usually by Steven and certainly not in front of Alex. 

Before Sam can register what happened, Alex has Steven by the collar and is - effortlessly - lifting him to his feet. Alex says nothing which is somehow even more frightening. She stares at Steven, unravels him with one look, and he, and his buddies trip over themselves to leave. 

Alex returns to her seat and continues eating pie, Sam suddenly gets it into her mind that Alex might be dangerous. Not in a bad way but perhaps, and this thought hits her at full force, Alex is actually on the run from something. They are practically in the middle of nowhere. The gun, the hushed phone conversations, the way that Alex always seems to avoid revealing any personal details. Sam softly touches Alex’s shoulder and mutters the kindest thank you she can muster up before she grabs the back of Lucy’s uniform and drags her into the bathroom. 

“I’m flattered but I got fucked to oblivion last night by this chick - who had a great collection of toys by the way - and I can barely walk-.”

“Lucy! No.” Sam shakes her head and pulls Lucy into a stall, locking it behind them. “I don’t want to...ew...I just think that maybe...maybe…”

“Use your words.”

“Is Alex kind of...strange to you? As in…” Sam clears her throat. “The way she just kinda tossed dumbass Steven aside, it was like she’s…”

“In the Mafia?” 

“What?!”

“Is that not where this was going?” Lucy crosses her arms over her chest. “I mean, she’s for sure involved in organized crime of some sort.”

“Okay, that’s terrifying.” Sam bites her nails for a second, pondering over every scenario that comes to mind. “But she’s so cute.”

“Killers can be cute,” Lucy says. “Though, she looks more like one of those enforcers. Like she’s just there to scare people off not murder them.”

“That’s enough.” Sam raises her hand to stop Lucy. “I don’t even know why I’m so invested in this. In two weeks, we’re gonna be out of a job, and I’ll probably never see her again.” 

“Change can be annoyingly difficult,” Lucy says with a sigh. “Let’s get back out there.”

Sam doesn’t let her concerns derail her day. She’s got plenty to get done, lots of gossip to spread between customers, and the casual flirting that has become the norm between her and Alex. Usually, Alex leaves before the lunch rush but today she sits through it, ordering an actual meal for a change. Sam watches her eat. There’s something enticing about it. Uninhibited and messy, Sam has had about all she can handle. “Hey, Peach, can I get you anything else?” 

“Nah, I think I should head out.” Alex stands and grabs her jacket. She digs into her pocket and pulls out a few bills tossing them on the counter.

“That’s way too much,” Sam tells her. This is a game they play every day, one that Alex never lets her win. “You’re spoiling me.”

“I try.” Alex digs around in her pocket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. “Smoke break?”

“You’re definitely trouble.”

“Never said I wasn’t.”

“Hey, Luce, I’m gonna take five,” Sam hollers to where Winn and Lucy are bullshitting near the kitchen.

“Take longer,” Lucy suggests, winking at Alex. 

They walk outside and Alex immediately lights up. She offers a cigarette to Sam, who accepts it gladly. For a while, they lean against the side of the building watching a tractor work the fields in the distance. The lunch crowd has mostly disappeared and now they’re moving into the lull of the rest of the day. Alex’s 1977 Ford Bronco is sitting there in the parking lot. Sam had noticed a few weeks ago that Alex always parked at the rear of the building. 

A quick escape route, Sam now realizes. 

“You married?” Alex asks out of the blue, Sam shakes her head. “Seeing anyone?” Sam shakes her head again, this time very much aware of Alex’s eyes on her. “Wanna fuck?” 

The thing about Sam Arias is that this kind of thing was not totally out of her wheelhouse. In fact, from what she can remember of the night, Ruby was conceived in a car. But fucking someone who she barely knew, who was probably in the Mafia, and who somehow managed to give her the best orgasm of her life - in less than six minutes, she might add - was certainly something Sam hadn’t expected of herself. 

Sam knows this story. Alex is like some kind of rough and ready drifter who breaks the heart of every woman in her path. Sam gladly takes one for the team as she lets Alex do whatever the hell she wants with her as they rock together in the back of Alex’s jeep. 

It all ends rather unceremoniously. Sam lying on her back trying to catch her breath, Alex wiping her fingers on her jeans with a smirk. “Damn, you look so good right now.” 

“Let me do something for you,” Sam offers. 

“Next time,” Alex suggests. “Right now, I’ve got some shit to get done.” Alex plants a firm kiss on Sam’s lips before they part and she drives off to do God knows what. Sam returns to a fairly quiet diner and tries to stop herself from feeling like a bundle of chaos for the rest of the day. 

It is totally unsurprising when Sam picks up her newspaper the following day. She suspects that everyone in town will be frightened but all Sam feels is relief. Winn and Lucy practically tackle her when she arrives at the diner, each ranting and screaming about how there might be a maniac out there. “I mean, holy fuck, they burned the entire building down!” Winn yells. 

“Sam, doesn’t this kind of seem like something someone in the mafia might do?” It’s a pointed accusation. One that Sam doesn’t take lightly. She looks down at the article again “Arson Suspected at Future Cafe Site”. The pictures tell the whole story. Someone had burned down the very place that was going to put Hanks out of business. “Either way, my ass is thrilled that we still have our jobs.” Sam agrees, almost too easily. 

The wait feels endless. Sam breaks two plates that morning while she tiptoes around the diner, hoping - fucking praying - that Alex will show up. When the clock strikes 2, Sam has convinced herself that Alex is long gone. 

Two minutes later, Alex walks through the doors wearing black pants, a black shirt, and a grey tweed trench coat. Sam finds herself struggling for words. She needs to say something firm. Alex looks like someone who has never been told ‘no’ and that kind of cockiness was not going to play here. “Hey, Fuzz, have an eventful night?” Sam asks pouring Alex’s coffee like always. 

“Nothing too exciting.”

“Did you hear? About that building.”

“Tough luck, huh?” Alex grins. “Well, at least, it’s lucky for you.”

“You really are bad news.” Alex gets a kick out of that. 

“When’s your smoke break?” Alex asks eagerly. 

“Are you crazy-?”

“I thought we had a spark. Plenty of fire between us and that’s something that can’t be contained.” Sam forces herself not to laugh or even smile. Alex isn’t convinced. “I’ll be outside, come find me, if you’re up for it.” Sam won’t be following. Alex is dangerous. 

A menace to society. 

Sam bites her tongue, tosses the rag she’d been using to clean the counter and yells to Lucy, “I’m gonna take a smoke break!” Lucy cocks her head to the side and, thankfully, doesn’t ask what she’s doing taking a break so early. “Could be a while.”

[pickalilywrites]

I'm always happy to see more of the Peaky Blinders AU. Don't feel like you have to include the Garrison lol - I do just genuinely like Levi, Petra, and the rest that are already in there.

have been meaning to write this lil garrison gang prequel for a while now xoxo

You Should See the Other Guy

Dot Pixis. Gang AU. 

2469 words. 

Buy me a ko-fi!

Dot Pixis fiddles with the glass in front of him, staring at the two empty seats at the other side of the table. As the minutes pass, his frown grows deeper, and he grows more impatient. He takes a quick glance at his watch - half an hour past ten - and grumbles to himself. The woman beside him, Anka, ignores the old man’s mumblings, and instead stares straight ahead at the door where their guests should have arrived long ago. Aside from the distiller, the two are alone in this place. Together, they sit in silence with only the sound of Hannes tending to the moonshine in the fermentation vessel sitting behind them.

“Pour me a drink, Anka,” Dot Pixis says suddenly, gesturing at his glass. “You may have a glass as well if you wish.”

“It’s rude to drink before your guests arrive,” Anka replies, but she’s already heading towards the racks of rum. She selects an unopened bottle without looking and returns, pouring the golden liquor until it almost fills the entire glass. However, she refrains from pouring herself a drink, setting the bottle down instead and returning to her place beside Pixis.

“You’re quite right,” Pixis agrees, but he takes a slow sip of his drink anyway. When he sets his glass down again, it is half empty. He looks disapprovingly at the other empty glasses. “Of course, I’m sure you would also agree that it’s rude for guests to arrive over half an hour late.”

“Perhaps they’ll have a good reason for their tardiness,” Anka says, but she knows this is unlikely. It is more likely that their guests think very little of Dot Pixis and his crew. It’s an unfortunate opinion to have, but it wouldn’t be the first time that people have underestimated the old gang leader.

Pixis merely grumbles, although it’s clear that he doesn’t agree with his second-in-command by his displeased expression. With every impatient glance of his watch, every move of the minute hand is another strike against their absent guests. Another fifteen minutes pass, and Pixis has emptied his glass. Should this meeting ever begin, Anka knows for certain that it will not end well.

There’s a knock at the door, and one of Pixis’ men enters. “They’ve arrived, Pixis,” Mitabi says. He waits for his boss’ command. When he sees Pixis wave his hand, Mitabi nods and proceeds to let the guests in.

Two men stroll in, not bothering to apologize. It could be that they’re unaware of their own tardiness, but Anka believes that it’s more likely that they don’t care. The expression on their faces is far too smug to be innocent, and they don’t bother to greet the old gang leader as they sit down across from him. They sneer at Pixis, believing him a senile old man, and one of them turns to Anka, gesturing for her to pour them all a drink.

Anka only moves when Pixis waves her forward. As she pours the gin, she keeps her eyes on the two guests, a neutral expression on her face. She remembers them from previous meetings that Pixis had held with their gang, although she recalls that they’re merely henchmen. It’s evident that the leader of this particular gang does not find this matter important enough to attend himself. It would have been better if nobody had come.

“You’re late,” Pixis says. He leaves his drink untouched. It might be that he’s had enough alcohol from his previous drink, but Anka believes it’s more likely that Pixis wants to deal with these poor fools first. “We were scheduled to meet an hour ago. Is there a reason for your tardiness?”

“Huh, an hour?” one of the men say, glancing down at his watch. He simply laughs when he sees the time, unashamed at his rudeness. He looks up and grins impishly at Pixis, the expression of someone who hasn’t acknowledged that he’s done anything wrong. Like his partner, he wears a black bowler hat on his head. Anka finds his boyish face and golden curls familiar and recalls his name as Edward. “Were we not supposed to meet at eleven? We were certain the meeting was at eleven, not ten.”

“It was ten,” Pixis says. Unlike the other two giggling fools, Pixis sits without so much as a smile on his face.

“Well, at least we’re here,” the other man says with a wave of his hand. He’s probably barely out of his twenties, if the peach fuzz on his upper lip is any indication of his age. When he takes off his bowler hat, he reveals a head of messy brown locks. Anka would like to say his name is Fred, although she thinks she’s merely grasping at whatever familiar name is available in her mind now. “There’s no point in getting angry about us now. It’s not as if losing your temper will fix things. Let’s talk about what we came here to talk about shall we?”

They must be incredibly bold and incredibly stupid to speak so brazenly to Pixis, although there’s a chance that it’s a dangerous mixture of both. Anka can’t recall the last time someone has ever spoken to Pixis in such a way. She’s sure that whoever had met an unfortunate fate. She’s surprised when she turns and sees that Pixis wears a calm expression on his face. She watches as he takes his glass, holding the top by the tips of his fingers, and swirls it around. He hasn’t even taken one sip yet, but the men across from him have eagerly gulped down their drinks.

“Then let’s talk about more important matters, shall we?” Pixis says, sitting back in his chair. He taps his fingers against the table, watching the two young men carefully. “Last month, the Citystreet Bowlers purchased 200 cases of beer, 100 cases of liquor, and 100 cases of wine from the Garrison Gang. However, the money we’ve received so far hardly covers your expenses. By now, your group should have surely sold enough to pay for at least 75 percent of what is owed, and yet we have received less than half of that money. Why is that?”

The blond one - Edward - tilts his head, feigning an expression of surprise as if this is new information to him. “Is that so?” he asks. He takes another swig of his drink, finishing off the rum. With a lick of his lips, he then says, “It’s true that much time has passed, but perhaps you’ve overestimated the quality of the product you’ve sold us. It isn’t doing nearly as well as you have predicted, Pixis. How can we possibly pay you back when it isn’t making as much as you believe it’s worth?”

Here, Hannes stops his works and looks up from where he stands at the open fermenter, and both he and Anka watch Pixis’ reaction. Rather than looking at his distiller, Pixis continues to look at the two men. The old man strokes his silver mustache, watching the men carefully. After a moment, he says, “A few of my men had the luxury of stopping by your bar the other night, and it seemed that business was well.”

The smile on the brown-haired man’s face falters for just a second, but his companion breezily answers, “There can be more than one reason for a business to succeed. In the case of the Citystreet Bowlers’ new establishment, we were lucky enough to have additional entertainment to attract customers - music, gambling, beautiful women, and the like. Much of our sales are attributed to these other attractions rather than your drinks.”

“Then you should have been able to sell drinks regardless of how good they were,” Pixis says, completely unruffled. He takes a small sip before he continues. “If you’re entertaining your guests well, their throats are sure to get parched eventually. The wine could have turned to vinegar, and they wouldn’t notice at all.”

The man continues to give Pixis his false smile. “We admit that we overestimated the popularity of your drinks. Why can’t you admit it as well?” the man laughs. His glass sits empty in front of him.

Pixis narrows his eyes at the man and his companion. “Tell me what you really think about these drinks,” he says. His eyes flicker over towards the men’s empty cups - all empty save for a drop or two of rum at the bottom of each glass - before his gaze returns to his guests. “Be honest this time.”

The dark-haired man looks nervous, his eyes flitting over from Pixis to his companion, but the man with the blond curls is as confident as ever. The blonde man rests his arm on the table as he leans over, a fiendish smirk on his face. “Frankly, Pixis, your drinks are complete shite,” he says, his words echoing through the cellar. Behind them, Hannes winces at the insult, but the man continues. “You could replace your beer with a bottle of piss, and I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.”

“Is that so?” Pixis asks. His eyes return to the empty glass in front of the blonde man. “Perhaps your palate is not as refined as you think it is.”

The man’s eye twitches. He’s clearly annoyed by Pixis’s comment, but he disguises his annoyance once more with his overconfident smile. “Don’t you believe it’s more likely that your products are poorly made?” He looks around the room - first at Pixis, then at Anka, then at Hannes. “After all, the people you’ve employed here can hardly be called reliable.”

“Enough,” Pixis says. He slams his hand on the table, and the glasses shake from the sudden jolt. The two men look at Pixis, startled, but Anka is hardly surprised. She had watched his anger grow and grow with every word that came out of the blonde man’s mouth. It was only a matter of time before the old man lost his temper. Now that he has, his stern gaze and the fire blazing in his hazel eyes are proof that the old gang leader still possesses the authority and power that he had held in his prime. Even though the two men had mocked and disrespected Pixis only moments earlier, they now shake in his presence.

Anka puts a gentle hand on her leader’s shoulder. “I’m afraid they’ve had a little too much to drink, sir,” she says quietly. It is not so much that she cares about what happens to these men. It’s just too much trouble to clean up afterward.

Pixis, however, isn’t having it. He rises from his seat, his chair scraping across the wooden floor. “On the contrary,” he growls, “I believe that they haven’t had enough to drink.”

“Sir,” Anka says, but she knows it’s far too late.

The gang leader grabs the angel-haired man by the collar of his shirt. It seems that the men have underestimated the old man’s strength, for all they can do is cry out in surprise as Pixis drags the man over to the open fermenter that Hannes is tending to. The man struggles as he’s dragged backward, reaching back and trying to tear himself away from Pixis’ grip, but he’s not strong enough. At least his companion has enough sense to fumble for his gun - a weapon stands a far better chance against Pixis’ fury than bare hands do - but he only has the opportunity to point it Pixis before Anka shoots it out of his hand.

“You bitch!” the brunet hisses, holding his other hand in shock. His head turns towards where he had dropped the gun. He reaches for it, but Anka is much faster.

Anka doesn’t say a word to the man. She simply steps on the gun, trapping it under the heel of her boot. She gives him a withering glare, making it clear that she would crush his head her heel if given the chance. The man has no choice but to watch helplessly as his friend’s head is submerged in a large vessel of alcohol.

Pixis holds down the man’s head, his eyes cold now. At first, the man struggles underneath Pixis’ grip as he tries to free himself, but his movements become weaker and weaker until he gives up completely. Pixis is deaf to the shouts of the man’s companion, and he’s oblivious to the look of alarm on Hannes’ face. His eyes are fixed on the rum that the man is being drowned in. It’s only when the bubbles have completely disappeared from the alcohol that Pixis lifts the man’s head. He raises the man up, his expression full of disgust as the man coughs out all the rum he had ingested. After the man has finished coughing, Pixis throws him on the floor. With his hands in his pockets, Pixis walks over to where the blonde man - his curls once a golden yellow, now a dirty blonde - has fallen. “You’ve insulted me,” he says, his voice gruff. “But far worse, you’ve insulted my gang and their work.”

The man on the floor splutters and coughs. He had once been so confident, but now tears stream down his face. Although he had strolled in like a grown man, he looks just like a boy now. He’s too afraid to even look up at the fearsome gang leader. He keeps his blue eyes on the floor in front of him as he mumbles, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, sir.”

“Get out of my sight,” Pixis says. He watches as the two men scramble away - the brunet holding up the blonde. As the two near the door, he calls, “And tell your boss that I’ll be expecting the money by the end of the week. If he hasn’t paid me by then, the Citystreet Bowlers can kiss their business goodbye.”

The brown-haired man nods frantically before he rushes out the door, half-carrying his comrade with him. Those guarding the doors on the outside look at the two men curiously, wondering what had transpired in the basement, and watch as the two hurriedly leave the building.

Pixis returns to his seat, leaning back in his chair. “We’re done with doing business with the Citystreet Bowlers, Anka,” he says calmly. He looks over at his second-in-command. “You’ve heard of Levi Ackerman, haven’t you? He’s just returned from the war. I hear that his clan is thinking about opening up a bar as well. Look into it for me.”

“Yes, sir,” Anka says.

“And pour me another drink.” He looks behind them, gesturing for Hannes to fetch them another bottle of rum.

Anka raises an eyebrow. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough to drink, sir?”

Pixis scoffs. “If you think I had too much to drink,  you should see the other guy.”